Phantom Stitches.

Americana Injustica

Somebody taps a chisel,

into a phantom nerve end,

my body racks and wriggles,

as I wake up screaming again,

somebody drives a freight-train,

through thinly-laid dreamscape,

somebody else is using my name,

and handing out my handshake,

someone is chasing me constantly,

anytime I look his face is somewhere,

like a silent horror that’s stalking me,

with a presence that’s everywhere,

somebody rips up the stitches,

the sound of Velcro against my screams,

the scenery changes and switches,

but the stitches are ripped out unfailingly,

somebody please tell me,

this isn’t the best of recovery,

that spending more time in therapy,

will allow the stitches to dissolve naturally.

 

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Eat Shit & Die.

The shifty turbulence,
Cruel and purposeless,
A great big oozing lie,
To completely emphasize,
Such seedy awfulness,
Wide open consequence,
And time will tick by,
To slowly materialize,
the lies of the anonymous,
The plight of pompousness,
Descent into what’s fine,
Regret the bottom line,
Until I throw them up again,
The feathers of a friend,
I’ll be choking on such childishness.

The Rest Of Them.

Remember how I understood you?

When your mouth was full,

Of weed smoke and jelly beans,

And the rest of the people,

Had no idea what you’d said?

Remember how I came to get you?

When your city was burning,

You tried to sleep through to death,

And the rest of the people,

Asked not after your well-being?

Remember those stupid promises?

Made to each other like idiots,

How they’ve filled my heart with regrets,

And the rest of the people,

Walk by me holding hands and laughing.

A Jewel Dealer.

The bellboy silently closed the heavy hotel door behind him as he left the cushy room. S swallowed hard and calmly shut her eyes. She let her head roll back against the wall and began to quietly count to herself in the dark closet. She heard J’s voice float to her in the darkness, boisterously speaking to the man who’s name was signed on the hotel paperwork scattered across the glass coffee table about 10 feet in front of the closet.

J was carrying on about pointless things, trifling topics that filled the empty space between herself and the jewel collector she was captivating with nonsense.

“75…76…77…”
S stealthily sat up on her haunches, readying herself to spring to her feet.
“85…86…87…”

“I hear it’s lovely there in the spring.”

She heard the sarcasm oozing from J’s low murmuring voice through the darkness.

“95…96…97…”

The footsteps were growing louder, getting nearer, the floor beneath S shook lightly as they approached the closet she was hidden it, lying in wait.

As the closet door opened, S registered the surprise in the face of the jewel dealer; he knew he had been gotten. The jacket he had intended to hang up in the closet was already wrapped tightly around his torso from behind, and J’s maniacal grin peeked at S through the darkness from over his left shoulder.

“Don’t make a sound.”

S was deftly binding his legs already and, rather gracefully, switching her position in the closet with the jewel dealer’s next to J. THUD. The man fell full on his weight like a sack of potatoes into a heap on the closet floor. Two wide eyes staring up at the calmly poised women from the floor of the closet.

“Give us the keys.” J thrust out her hand towards the panicked face in the inky darkness.

“I…I…”

The jewel dealers words stuttered pathetically through gasps and quiet sobs.

“You will be a ghost full of regrets if you don’t stop talking and hand me those keys.”

S was wearing her serious face as she said this. Nervous pocket shuffling in the closet; keys jingling, coins rattling, until finally a small ring with two tiny nondescript keys on it was tossed through the space between them. A groan of miserable defeat followed from the closet.

Introspectivity.

It always starts out with,
that involuntary twitch,
eyes popping,
nervous rocking,
hard to catch my breath;

This much accursed gift,
heart haywire, mind adrift,
engine sputter,
pulse aflutter,
can’t run away from it;

A sand that’s too fine to sift,
these hands: too broken to lift,
no motivation,
slow salvation,
beyond a dark, longstanding rift;

Steaming piles of shit,
line my pathway to its pit,
a one way road,
on the map I hold,
of a soul that’s counterfeit.