Nightmare Awake
/Different kind of creature
Shadow hidden under bleachers
Shallow, slithering dark creeper
Nightmare seeped to dreaming sleepers
Creaking floorboards, whisper speaker
Silhouetted shapeless shrieker…
Read MoreEchoes in the Walls
/Still I sit at the center of the hall facing where I’d go if I moved. Time has become irrelevant in my world. Whether it’s been a few minutes or a hundred years isn’t discernible. There isn’t a day or night to tell. There isn’t anything. Nothing changes in this place.
The region I’m in is filled with empty pods. No sight of dead clones anywhere. Indents riddle the wall opposite the pods more frequently, visible from one another. Yet, no door. No exit. No escape. No anything. Never anything.
I’ve decided to sit and wait. My attempts to kill myself are fruitless. My attempts to starve fruitless.
Finding and end to this hallway. Fruitless.
Finding a living clone. Fruitless.
Deviation is nonexistent.
I’ve been consumed by madness many times over just to regain….
Read MoreStaying Alive IV
/Survival and starvation breed insanity in the minds of the weak willed.
The weak don’t last long.
Here’s Alex.—————————————————————————-
The voices scramble in my head. Fighting. Striking all the cords. Lighting sparking up my neurons. Causing pain. So on. And so on.
The scent of sulfur squeezes in under the crack of the door. Seductive. Alluring. It could all be over if I give in. A doorknob away.
Pitch black footsteps on the other side. Some drag. Others pace.
A scent which promotes a familiar taste. Iron. Strong. It lingers in this place.
Greed lead the curious cat to Death’s door. Whether or not I want to remain here anymore is no longer a choice I get to make. Best case scenario is to endure.
It’s been days and the daze is setting in. Not many ways this could end. I’ve already debated running outside. And I hate it, knowing I might die. But there’s no other way to…
Read MoreShadows Answer Stalled
/Confusion. Solitude.
Maddening, The Hall further taunts the lost soul.
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For years I’ve walked this narrow hall alone.
Haven’t seen a copy in ages.
Haven’t seen one alive. Ever.
Stranger that I miss them.
I’ve never stopped walking, though. And now there’s a steel rectangular indent on the wall. Seven by three vertical feet. No handle. Thus I beg the question, can doors exist in this place?
It might have been months or weeks, but I haven’t moved from before this indent. It means something.
It has something.
The wall goes on from where I came and it goes on to where I’m headed. But I’ve never seen an indent. I’ve never seen anything on the wall but the wall.
And copies stacked against it.
Nothing ever happens with the indent no matter how long I…
Lost The Keys
/Honesty and sincerity are profound struggles we encounter from day to day.
In this piece Jack expresses his experiences with being upfront to himself.
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No phrases around to display the profound
Faces down in the dark places
From which I can’t get out
Empty pages, stuck again
Rage pint up, grab a pen
Ritalin the bad man
No answers, but don’t want to hang man
Doubt is cancer, plastered, back of the mind
A disaster, wasting the time, short lifespan
The taste? Wasted life
”But Captain, the scanner’s shot out!”
”We need a new plan of attack to get out!”
Cannonball the neanderthal
Enchant ‘em, get mannin’ at the control
I’ve been plannin’, call Ganon, start tearin’ down them walls
Raise his damn cortisol, stroke that ego
Bring out the evil, using the ink to mislead him
Don’t let him blink, don’t even let him wink
I want to see what he thinks
I want to read what he thinks
Pull up, last car in the caravan…
I'm No More
/Sometimes we feel ignored but it’s just in our heads.
Sometimes we are ignored and they follow up with regret.
Sometimes we don’t speak and the words moves on.
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Gab inaudible crap. Stuttered puffs of smoke on which to choke. Of words, broke. Get stoked with hope someone will know, yet the roll is slowed. Snake eyes gaze the two step, phased.
Said to be cold. The safety blanked is much too old. Need a cane to be able to remain stable ‘cause it can’t quit kicking the jock. He’s tossed the ball on this side of the court but good judgement is not on the table.
On all fours, the dumb whore lets anything lay on top. She wants more. The mind is a fucking slut.
That’s when they slip in. Sliding and scheming. Coming to conclusions.
Until he’s hot headed, they’re not ready to stand steady, instead they plot dreading the rain when it’s heavy. The pour down hill. A flood rips still towers right from their solid iron. The red pill goes silent.
Systems fail. He gets violent. I’m not trying to fight him.
Let him out.
Let him shout.
Let him tire.
And the mouth runs dry with lifeless twisted chimes. Echoes from past times. Like hellish bells ringing well past the due date.
A new take on the birth of the problem child. Fighting, struggling, dying out. On bottom.
The words mean nothing. The pleas heard hardly.
They herd hard. Strong leads.
Like fucking animals. Picking at the random battles. Cattle cooped waiting for supper.
Duped. Trapped in giant coops.
But when questions aimed at truth show proof they’ve got no clue the volume lowers.
And he fades out.
Soup. Drowning in heat. Screams shatter defeat.
Loops causing retreat. Deep settled and bleak.
He stays there.
Speaking to the wind. Creeping, shrieking, blending in.
The words spoken are all broken. So he holds them.
Gives them back to that slut waiting on her back.
To get fucked with another problem. She’s bad luck. She loves to solve them. Jigsaw.
The jigs up. The chick is rough. Dangerous. Gives no fucks.
Tangled together. Alone forever. They’re one.
For the worse or the better.
Extroverted indoors.
Behind the locks.
Inside the box.
I’m no more.
Cardboard Boxes
/Loud voices. How annoying.
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No one escapes the box
No holes, can’t breath
No sunlight to see
No hope, can’t leave
In the dark the mind plays games
Demons and shadows, no faces, no names
They dance and battle
Confrontational, no shame
From inside the cement box
The cement blocks the outside’s clocks
Tossing glass inside stone houses
Sharp shards prance
All the small pieces
Individually, no meaning
Prisoners, no feeling
Illusions of identity
Profound how having ears to the ground sound loud
Shouts drown down
Nothings on the other side
Beg to die
But this prison named hell has other plans aside
There’ll never be goodbye
Stuck here beyond death
Fucked clear to regret
Desperate Thinking
/Many of the major struggles we deal with as adults are internal. And they surround the perpetual identity crisis the “adult experience” turns out to be. Some of our worst demons reveal themselves to be a major part of our identity.
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In the back of my mind the grind stays in line
Shows up on time
Thick sludge slime drips off ass it goes by
Slow drive
No life, it chases faceless cries
Whines stalking hated ties through crooked lies
It takes or it dries
Created illusions for desperate tries
Feeling asleep still hoping to die
Never real, but always alive
Never bad, but always a crime
Chiming the rhymes of evil
Slides off the tongue perceiving
Fires burn the homes
Screeching iron melting down
Reaching into hollow grounds
Spinning, churning, twisting round
Molten lava leaking out
The creaking shack is splintered, brown
No sneaking in without a sound
The bleak still ring it sings resound
Trapped inside with screams and shouts
Rotted corpses stand about
Mules and horses on propaganda routs
Burnt alive behind the eyes
To all the rest I stand here fine
Turn Tables
/Having tracked and cornered Arthur, the detective has the tables turned on him.
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Static charged, the manic man at large wrecks havoc as he travels far
Terror through fear, like the fuhrer from years ago, then goes steers clear and disappears
Near the sand he stands, hands in the sky, he’s mad, the detective failed his plan
Didn’t matter how hard he tried, the crazed guy got the jump, now the good’ll die
Cries and pleads for life, but the look in those evil eyes say, “nice try”
The gun fires, it’s dark like he’s tired, visions of his dead father he admires
Volume down, all goes quiet, total absence of a riot
Memories fade, euphoria fills the brain, insane malice won the day
The Investigation, Part 1
/After Arthur managed to escape the asylum and ravaged a small family the state designated his recapture a priority and an investigation into his psychology was initiated.
The detective roams the house in search of clues.
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The rooms smells of burnt carpet and charred coal. You’d think the scent would have faded by now. If not for the dust and dry air it’d be easy to confuse as fresh.
Candy wrappers, crinkled up papers and broken glass crackle beneath my boots as I move through the abandoned house.
Shattered picture frames and porcelain dolls rest on the coffee table center of the living room. Yellow tape still play the roll of bedroom doors. No one’s stepped foot in the house since the tragedy occurred.
His bedroom is the only part of this godforsaken place that isn’t a complete disaster. It’s untouched. As if he’d not once been inside. As if every waking minute was of each day were wasted compulsively cleaning and organizing personal belongings.
Minus the excessive neatness, nothing seems off.
The report said the family was quiet. Private. Then the incident happened.
What could drive a man to so brutally…
Read MoreMara's Book
/As humans we hide. We avoid facing our problems and pretend everything ceased existing.
Buried in our vices.
A poem-------------------------------------
Shady tree
Knees pulled up
Book in hand
Quiet
External static
The adventures of a manic hero
Buried in the pages for ages
Battling mages and dragons
Stopping havoc from passing
Adored by all as it is
But the portal back home
It’s closing
Been dozing for way too long
The demons from the frozen homeland
Where evil roams much to often
If the gate shuts and there’s no luck
It’d be easy to get stuck
Fine and dandy
To get away from the madness
No one will miss me
In Bed With Arthur
/Arthur, after having liberated the evil from the corrupt family, was once again caught by the corrupt police and returned to his prison. The cage where they accuse him of insanity. He knows the bad guys don’t win. And he’s the hero of the story, so he will not lose.
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Eyes open, I’m in bed
Six years, been like I’m dead
Tech sticking from my head
Strapped, chain down
Dark room, no sound
Mind rush, go round
Fear, possessed now
No exit near while held down
Tears, the scream bounce around
Leering gaze from the shadows of the room
A crooked grin, hazy, sharp teeth, it’s hungry too
An abomination, with no hesitation it…
Three Types of Suicide
/In this explanation, Jack breaks down his understanding and beliefs on the topic of stigmatized suicide and the three groups of suicidal people.
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We currently live in a world where discussions on suicide are so viciously stigmatic that they’re nearly unheard of. Sometimes the discussion is enough to help an individual, but the risk of getting institutionalized is too great to attempt the dialogue at all. We’re underdeveloped in the area as a result. Most with suicidal thoughts aren’t even planning to act on them, they’re no more than thoughts. But the inability to discuss these thoughts lead to the held energy manifesting in other ways. Many times it turns into action because there is no other way to process the information.
We should be capable, as a society, nation and planet, to discuss things without another person deciding what it is you mean by it.
In this short explanation I offer perspective on the matter by walking you through the three forms in which acting on suicide can manifest.
Let us begin…
Read MoreWhy?
/Feeling closed inside but unable to stop the strive.
This lyrical poem shows Jack’s fight and what he might do given the try.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Do I feel weak?
Is it I refuse to speak of how my thoughts are bleak
Shriek inside, seek relief, heart dry dead mounted on a cross, I’m so fucking lost
But I refuse to think ‘cause I’ll sink into a slump and shrink
Lumps stuck in my throat, I’ll begin to choke, start feeling cold
Reckless and out of control but I won’t let go ‘cause there’s no telling where this car’ll go
It’s nowhere any of us would want to know
Obsessed with little regrets, don’t believe in hope
Lie to myself, “I’m the best,” “Not a mess,” “I can do this, though.”
Infest my mind with screaming voices testing me
Deafening noises
Definite poison
Stay poised when the moment is pointing three fingers back as I fade to black
In the middle of a heart attack that…
Inner Demons
/With a crumbling country we face the biggest Social-Political divide since the civil war.
This Lyrical Poem tells Jack’s take and much more.-----------------------------------------------------
There’s something innocent in thought
Theories of what’s not caught in the web
Vanish to the back
Knotted after tied in the hot headed
Hard to not get in bed
Wedded to the beliefs of the dead when its fed daily
But instead what we mean seems to flee us
Jesus died for no reason, see us
Beating, mistreating each other even when we don’t mean to
We can’t help, we’re helpless and selfish
Hope for better version of ourselves to shuffle through
So we stop hurting each other to do the things we want to do
But it’s senseless, we can’t stop even if we wanted
It’s who we are, it’s who we’ve been, it’s who we’ll be
The monsters we don’t acknowledge
Degrees wasted from college
Knowledge lost at every turn, at all costs
Lodged in our souls the demons we hope don’t grow
Ignoring them, we don’t know
They’re slowly taking control
Blinding our sight, ruining our lives
Driving the ride down the hill with the lights off
While we’re hopped on pills denying its part of us
Fighting to destroy the world we’re tried to build
Darkness we’ve tried to conceal reveals itself to have always been real as hell
A president that won’t chill but stays cold
Bold messenger birds deliver blue messages which hurt the innocent youth, the immigrant too
We don’t know what to do
Media buries the truth and we just believe what they want us to
Pin us against one another because we don’t bother to fact check each other
We’re monsters just like our four fathers
The Great Subtraction
/Kids in cages.
A Poem.
45 is smaller than 0.
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I’m going to flip the shit if they crack another motherfucking whip
Can’t handle it when I can’t spit
Rambling blazed for days
Holding a fucking clip
Shit stays the same way
It’s making me sick
Staring down barrels drunk
Like we’re outta luck
In stasis sterile faces that won’t quit
Cages mistake small kids
Taken away
They can’t be seen
It seems history repeats it’s scenes
Screams don’t stop the suit’s schemes
We should be ashamed
Turn the cheek and sneak away
Cell phone in hand
Selfies behind screens
Eyes on ‘em like laser beams
Hit record on that cam
Life the video game
It’s our mask while we hide in the dark
We’re Batman
All going insane
Yelling the same phrases night and day
No response
It’s like that
No one listens and things don’t change
Deranged, we keep playing the same way
Won’t fight back
Maybe someone brave will stand and save the day
But every time we call the hero someone ends up shot
It’ll happen until we’re down to zero
The Great Subtraction in action
This extinction event is meant so we can’t repent
When the end comes through
The end meant for those that won’t do
What they want us to do
The way they want us to
That’s just for me and you
Static Breeze
/In this short poem Jack attempts to express his mental prison to the reader.
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Bird watching from inside a cage is no fun
All the flight possible is witnessed with our own two eyes
All while bound behind bars, the cage door open
What fun is flight alone?
What fun is gliding the wind without a flock?
There’s no point in leaving the cage
But staying inside no flight is possible
Having clipped wings might make it easier
But not all caged birds learn to sing
Iron bars become the norm
Comfort the enemy
The rainbows never come visit
Neither do the rain clouds
A bird that learns to hum a fallen soldiers honor
It needs no more than another fallen soldier
Is this its purpose?
What good are wings on a corpse?
The Circle
/...but he tries to relax. He can’t seem to stop kicking and flailing wildly.
As James struggles to hold himself up the rope swings left and right. Bounces up and down. Tightens as it twists and turns making it increasingly difficult to grip.
“How do I get out of this?” James tries to focus, “How do I pull myself up and over?” but he can barely keep it together. Images of family members and his children keep getting in the way. His mind wanders against his will. He rather keep it on solutions. Active and capable. But his rational mind believes it’s too late.
Struggling with which...
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