I'm generaly a cool person and I'll talk to anyone, even if you just say "hey" or "hi". I would like you to be a little more creative with the conversation, but I'm not picky. I don't normaly write stories, but I might put one up, I do write a lot of poetry however and will be adding periodicly. Give me feed back on them, but don't be an ass about it. 




And all things will fall

Destroy me slowly, I want to feel the hole grow.
I’ll bottle it up and never let it show.
I like the way it hurts,
I can’t describe the pain.
Should I feel remorse,
should I feel shame?
I feel empty and hollow,
in these deadly sins I plan to wallow.
They’ll blacken my heart,
let my soul die.
I’ll play my part and never ask why.
I’ll act dumb and like I don’t care, but what it all comes down to is what I’ll wear,
To their funerals,
I’ll be there.
To watch the mausoleums,
I’ll sit with the crows, their bones will feed them.
My skin will turn and spirit will burn.
But when it all ends I shall sit with my friends.
Basically what I’m trying to say is not everything is here to stay.
When it’s all said and done,
when the dark swallows the sun,
I won’t be gone long at all, I’ll be back,
and all things will fall.


Angel Killer

Dark Angel I’ll watch you fall.
Your wings shed feathers as they’re torn and mauled.
I’ll watch you cry,
take your one last breath and,
while you die look at my face just one last time.
I want you to see me before you die,
before eternal night makes you blind.
Look,
look upon your killer just one more time.
The mirror cracks and falls to the floor,
now one last breath just one more.
My wrist burns, and hurts and bleeds.
My wings are taken and torn in front of me.
In the glass I saw myself the killer,
the killer,
no one else.



Black roses and glass houses (original)

Declare war on the ordinary.
Assault the savior within to take back what was never there.
Dominate the killing game,
and return to your place of comfort.
I just keep creating patterns.
Embrace the chaos.
It leaves a cut so deep in the soul that it seems there is no way of healing it.
It all boils down at last.
Confronting it is the only way to sew up that bleeding gash.
Put back together all wrong,
take your life now darken your light.
Take it away,
these days don't make the wrongs right
You want to let go but they keep yelling for you to fight.
You scream at yourself and dig your own grave.
The blood flows down your arms this reality is slipping.
When you push yourself you feel everything start fading.
Destroy the glass houses,
now pause to take a breath and rebuild the broken hearts.
Love is for suckers so pick yourself apart.
You are your own murder scene,
you're the vindictive,
discontented loner you've always been.
Carry on,
your eyes are heavy as you lay in your silver casket.
So quit crying and sell your jaded soul,
but don't forget to patch up the black hole.



Black roses and glass houses (revised)

Declare war on the ordinary and strip the beast bare.
Assault the messiah within to take back what was never there.
Dominate the killing business and return to your place of comfort.
I just keep creating patterns, the thoughts in your head in need of sort.
Embrace the chaos.
It leaves a cut so deep in the soul that it seems there is no way of healing it.
It all boils down at last,
confronting it is the only way to sew up that bleeding gash.
Put back together all wrong,
Take your life and darken your light.
Your’re only here for so long.
Take it away,
These days don’t make the wrongs right,
you want to let go.
Scream at yourself and dig your grave and hope someone will save you.
The blood flows down your arms,
this reality is slipping.
When you push yourself you feel everything start fading.
Destroy the glass house and pause to take a breath,
and rebuild the broken hearts.
Love is for suckers so pick yourself apart.
You are your own murder scene.
You’re the vindictive, discontented, loner you’ve always been.
Carry on,
your eyes are heavy as you lay in your silver casket.
You can’t hide or mask it.
Just patch the hole and sell your jaded soul.



Don’t cry for me

I can feel it in my head and work its way to my heart.
I feel it devour every body part.
Everything hurts,
my head, my teeth.
Now I feel it surge into my throat and my knees.
My mouth starts to bleed my eyes start to pound, it almost feels like I’m being drowned.
My arms go numb and my ears are deaf.
Being torn apart till nothing is left.
My muscles are tender my bones start rotting,
in my veins my blood starts clotting.
I think my hearts stopping and my flesh is burning.
Why won’t I die so it’ll just quit hurting?
My skin goes grey and I begin to decay,
with my last breath I try to say.
Don’t cry for me I’m already dead,
just let me rest my aching head.
I lose my breath and my lungs burst,
please someone get me a hearse.
I want it to be black just like my ashes.
But my casket be gold with silver latches.
Before I go I have to state, it’s very important,
It just can’t wait.
There’s a funeral charge, a little fee.
So cough it up and let me be.




Finish it

My mind is blank, black and cold.
These memories now are buried and old.
I found it in my closet replaced by something else I thought erased.
The bones white, bleached and gleaming,
from someone else I could hear screaming.
It was me,
in a dream,
that had to be real.
I can’t describe the fear I feel.
Suddenly broken I drop to the floor.
I think I’ve been here once before.
I feel it warm, wet and seeping.
I see the darkness that is now creeping.
Filling my eyes with blurring vision I should have considered a different decision.
My regret is not what I did; it’s how selfish it is.
It’s that I shed no tear,
for the hazy thoughts that settle here.
I see the light at the end of a tunnel and my life winds down this endless funnel.
My face sullen and somber,
now I slip into eternal slumber that when I finish it,
I’ll make my bed among the dead.
 


Parrot

They say no body can copy you is it not completely impossible?
The answer is it’s not too hard to do,
To rewrite someone else’s gospel.
Make yourself become someone else.
To blaspheme the church of another,
when the scheme is to rediscover.
What they’re made of,
maybe the little sadist knows.
How deep the rabbit hole goes.
In single file the capitalists parrot each other.
Repeating things said by another.
Telling lies,
like broken records they keep saying it till they infect the beggars.
The days are filled with fast talk lockdowns and letters from youth protection.
I’ll never let myself be brought down by these,
systematic talk arounds.
And I’ll look up to find redemption for these false patriot intentions.
When the end of the days comes,
I’ll march to the beat of my own drum.
Maybe some day I’ll go and everyone stays,
till then I’ve got nothing more to say.
 


Transformers and Mental Breakdown

Somewhere beyond my reach,
the blackened ashes of all that is forgotten and gone,
linger in my soul.
I can see them,
the old bones,
burnt and withered away by time and wanting something more.
Listen,
speak,
can you feel it?
It’s there waiting,
knowing weakness.
All this bleakness coming to a head.
Cut,
maim,
sever,
and throw away what is on the floor.
Dare to have and have nothing,
show nothing,
be nothing,
hear nothing.
Only wanting what is then,
the once was,
the has been.
Kill the heart,
one more jagged glass stake,
that which you can look at yourself with.
See yourself commit that what you call a self righteous act.
Necromance ware it all went wrong,
the fallen angel’s nightmare,
transformers and mental breakdown.
You can’t get away,
a sacrilegious hell a blasphemous spell,
the fine line between reality and in your head fading.
You start changing,
your alone,
no reflection to stare back at you and show you your deadly sins it all disappears again only to be alienated once more.
The cuts on your arm don’t bleed as much as your heart,
in the end we are reminded of what we really are
we are,
transformers and mental break down.
Don’t you love how it all comes back to us now?
Transformer and mental breakdown



The next set of poems that I've put on the site are more centered around Jim Morrison style. He had a different way of doing things, I used his technique. 

-Army of Orchids

Grey golden rods from where the weeds are hung.
They are left to twitch and stir with a growing death toll.
Sanctify the dried and lying ground.
To what extent would we go to prove what we aren’t?
We are a wolf in a sheep skin,
we are the shark in a fish body,
we are the snake in a butterfly’s clothing we are,
we are a weed in a roses petals.
We are a disease,
We are a phantom locust what thrives on Cain’s bounty we are Abel in Mary we the righteous are evil.
Can you find them?
Rest easy and know you are one of them, 
  one of us,
one of many,
one of the same whole.
At least if one petal dies the whole weed will live on.
Lets dissect the reason,
push logic,
and pull out the process to reveal a wilted orchid of the most beautiful kind.
We are an army,
we act as a unit,
a beast,
we,
are an army of orchids.



“Come to me as Beautiful”

The final sound revelers twirl unappreciated around the clock of the horseman. 
Roaring broken butterfly.
He pushes on going nowhere fast,
pulling his past.
Chattering of the fused extension booms through the red forest.
“It is greeting time at the industrial church.”
The socket less eye opens once a day to release the dogs,
they bury their heads at the sight of the ducks.
“Just what they were taught.”
“Come to me, come to me as beautiful.”
Mocking tuned snakes tunnel into his head.
The just line extra stares on in bless.
The dreamed hands do nothing as they wade comfortable through bloody masks and uniforms. 



Dear Magnetic Jumpsuits,

A vanishing act for the scenes and shake off the day’s routine blood letting. Nevertheless we cut off or cut out a small piece of ourselves despite what the murderous black doves have to say. Time and time again we’re subjected to these electronic corpses, these digital victims, these… magnetic jumpsuits? Revel in all its hypnotic splendor and keep telling yourself it’s all okay. There is no next time in the never ending brimstone reign, or is it rain? I guess it like everyone else is in the eye of the beholder and everything is coming to an end in my, your, our, we, us, their psychedelic lie. Are we them or are they us? Close your eyes and hope that everyone, no wait… everything fades away before you do. Your blood runs cold as your ashes are blown away in the winds of more or less. The minds they do not bless are here to riot, fight, take back, and give up what belongs to, who? No one, someone, this one, everyone, me you, us, them, they, we, we… we… we are left to our own devices and left for dead. So we shall dig your… our graves, black and embracing, endearing, calling, I’ll throw myself in for the last time.

Sincerely,
…  



Different Sin

This eye is merely a peep hole to the evolved hypocrisy.
The soft deception,
is so in many parts a hole.
The sadistic void of all sins returning to the altar too.
We forget ourselves only remembering,
reveling what we thought we lost.
Every page written is a small price to pay for the greedy dogs speaking rage.
The shells dropped into their mouth,
the after math epithet.
The murderous faith in the green commandment,
the highest bidder takes all.
The loyalty drug,
more dangerous than the shallow cocaine.
Unknowingly held against our will in the ignorant cell, we can look but we can’t touch.
The power cross sits behind his faith wall,
clear and content knowing he can’t be touched.
The dying guards have ODed on this righteous lie.
Another twisted piece in the coffin door of humanity,
they’re subjected to the robe parasite.
A different passage a different bullet,
a different sin a different chamber,
the pious roulette.  



Folded Gods


Courtship carrying queen of my stone age.
Off with her head and pull,
aparting my dream.
The spade seer to a diamond knower.
Deepen,
darkening,
whole of an illiterate void,
call upon the evilest creation of man.
Of man indeed it cries out from its lone head,
the Enubus.
The skeletal remains of everything in mass.
They’re a cold earth bearing casket holder,
to what circumstances bring you there?
Celestial game of the Gods from how high a tower.
Press the sanctions for the answer and liquidate the currency of family values.
Irritate the throat of the audible dragon and so forth will it spit its shallow fire.
The warning shadow moves in it’s hiding from the sun.
  


High Horse

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”
Worked legal space
to proud swallowing its angry pride,
it yells bitterly.
Radiant white fangs biting cross skies to leave sunken marks in its rocky skin.
The demon dream corrupts,
what is left of the innocent,
devoured,
devoured by the digital wolf.
No boy cries out this warning.
“Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolute.”
We ride the high horse,
the whiter the better.
In the few hours we are the polite machines,
and in the human night we revert to all that is primal unknowing.
Red catatonic theory,
the pure religion,
starves as the blue tick is hosted.
“The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.”
The wont dream abyss opens its craggy jaws to engulf the fence walkers.



Paper Locusts

The strangest creep philosopher tunes his blooming guitar.
“They’re coming to take me away.”
Pulled,
ripped from the conscious vine of,
society is screaming.
We are the food of the systematic horse,
rearing its horned, malicious head.
The blue virus,
Hydra of ways of man.
Shows its continental face while the others toil undetectably behind our backs planting the flawed existence seed.
Growing blackened by dreamy aphids,
sold still for idle profit.
“You work day and night on hollow offerings.”
Man can’t survive on nature any longer,
watered down with lost prayers and wrong promises.



Here is a short story that was origionaly a class assignment, it's not great but it's a start.


No Survivors
A blood curtailing cry cut through the night. A man with the height of six feet, three inches, Corey Bishop an ex-homicide detective stood over the body of his wife Elizabeth. She lay dead in a pool of her own blood from a blunt force trauma; her skull was crushed with a hammer. He herd sirens coming through the hills and turned to see the Las Vegas Police Department pulling into the scene. Chief of investigation Robert Savo stepped out of his car and approached Corey. “Detective Bishop I heard what happened, are you going to be okay?”
Crash! Bang! Bark, Bark! Corey jerked awake. “Roxy you stupid dog, shut up!” He grabbed the large boxer’s collar yanking her back from the window roughly. “It’s just a cat, moron.” He moved the curtain and peered out the window, he watched the dark street cautiously. He saw no movement, stepping carefully away from the window and put his slippers on and padded silently down to his basement. A small whimper met his ears. He flipped on the light to see his prisoner, twenty two year old Rebecca Green lying on the ground, bound to the support beam and gagged. He smiled mockingly at her, as if it were just a routine conversation between two old high-school friends. He had no intention of rape, only keeping her so she could never get away, since he couldn’t keep his wife. She had long blonde hair and dark blue eyes, she was a classic tall, blonde haired, and blue eyed collage student. He could see his dead wife when he looked at her. He reminisced the night she died; he hadn’t seen her for hours so he went to look for her. Maybe her car broke down and she would be walking he could pick her up. He drove down the dust covered road when his head lights shone on what looked like someone laying a few yards away from the road. He stopped the truck and climbed out, he called to the person. He recognized the bracelet on the body and ran to her. He knew it was Elizabeth, suddenly he snapped back to reality. He squatted in front of her and spoke quietly. “I don’t know what your so afraid of if I was going to kill you I would’ve done it by now.” He untied the gag from her mouth; she had large, red indents from the pressure of the cloth in her cheeks. He took the picture of his wife from the work bench and held it next to her face, comparing them. “Hmmm…close but not the way I’d like it to be, well I can fix that, easily.” He leaned down to her and re-tied the cloth around her mouth, and set the picture back on the bench, then turned on his heel and thumped back up the stairs. He walked briskly back into his room and gathered his clothes, then stepped into the bathroom and started his shower. 
He came out of the bathroom and tossed the wet towels into the basket in his room, grabbed his house keys from the table, locking the door behind himself he walked out. It was still dark out side; he walked quickly and quietly to a pitch black ally at the back of his house, lit a cigarette and waited. He had been standing there for an hour when he noticed a young girl about the same age as Rebecca walking past. He kept his head down and waited for her to get at least a meter away from him and he took out a shiny hunting knife from the pocket of his pants. “Hey!” He called to her, as she stopped and turned he plunged the knife deep into her ribs, puncturing her lungs as easily as a thumb tack would puncture a balloon. A small cry of surprise and pain escaped her in the last breath she would ever take. A thin smile crossed his lips, as he threw her over his shoulder and hauled her to his house. He pounded down the old wooden steps to his “workshop” and lay her on a large steel table face up. She still had a stunned look on her face as he cut away at her skin with a surgical knife. He harvested only her eyes and nose, and used a large saw to cut of her left leg just below her knee. He placed the small items in a bag and put them in a cooler, and opened a door to a dark, cramped room and stored the body in it. He turned around to find Rebecca staring in horror at him he smiled at her and picked the leg up and carried it up the stairs with him. “Roxy, come here!” THUNK! She listened and could here the sound of the dog tearing flesh of the leg. She shut her eyes trying to block out the nauseating sound. Corey looked down at the hungry dog and smiled as it ripped and devoured the severed limb. Rebecca twisted and strained her hands trying to loosen the bonds. She fell back on the beam and looked around; she noticed the picture and stretched her foot to it trying to knock it down. She finally got it down and winced in pain as she slammed the heel of her foot into the glass. Blood dribbled off her foot to the floor as she slid the piece of glass to her hands. She cut the rope with a large shard, only to look up to see him running down the stairs towards her. The rope snapped and she jumped up and out of his way but she wasn’t fast enough. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her onto the bloody steel table, he held her down as he strapped her in. She squirmed but he was way to strong, when he had her clamped down he pulled out the dead woman’s nose and eyes, from the cooler. “You know, we could have done this the easy way, but no you had to try and run. Oh well.” He spoke to her like an adult would speak to a child that had been acting up. She shrieked in terror as he pulled the nose out of the bag and held the knife to her face. She strained at the metal clamps on her wrists and ankles, finally one broke and she flung her fist at his head. She caught him in the right temple sending him backwards. He lay unconscious on the floor; she twisted her still trapped hand and slipped it awkwardly out of the clamp. She reached for the bobby pin in her greasy hair and started picking the locks on her bonds. 
He finally came to on the floor, sitting up he looked around. He felt something warm drip down the side of his face; he touched the tender lump on his head and looked at the blood covering his fingers. Suddenly he felt someone pull his head and something cold slid quickly across his throat followed by a searing pain, then nothing. Rebecca stood over her captor as he lay dead like the woman whose corpse he so carelessly threw into the closet. “Thump, thump, thump!” “Ms. Green, are you in there? This is the Chief of police please let us in!” She turned and walked calmly to the door to let them in. 
She sat outside in the police car, starring, blank eyes, blank expression. “What a shame detective Savo, he was good at his job, but not very good at killing.”
Savo looked away, to the two body bags that contained an innocent victim and the ex-detective. “Well I guess it was bound to happen some time.”
“What do you mean Savo?” 
“When his wife died he had a major break down, and was in therapy for a year. Eventually he just stopped going and stopped coming to work. Then the disappearances started not long after we stopped seeing him, we sent people to his house to check on him but he just wouldn’t answer the door. He sat day in and day out in his house didn’t call anyone, no friends no family.”
The Medical Examiner Amber Black laid the cold steel surgical knife on Bishops chest and made a long incision and pulled the skin back from his ribs. She finished examining the body and picked up a small recorder from her desk and recorded the cause of death.
“The time is 5:00am a Caucasian Male identified as ex-detective Corey Bishop, 6 feet, 3 inches, 207 pounds, was pronounced dead at 3:32am from a severed jugular vein. This is evident from the large laceration on the hyoid bone. The subject had suffered a minor concussion approximately four hours before death. The Weapon used to kill him was a buck knife.” 
Rebecca lay in the hospital bed watch the IV slowly drip morphine into her system. She just watched as she slipped into a hazy sleep and awoke to someone saying her name; she opened her eyes to see her older brother standing over her bed. “Bobby how did you get here from Arizona so fast?”
“Well I didn’t go the speed limit I’ll tell you that.”
“Where’s mom and dad?”
“The lobby.”
They said their good byes as he turned on his heel to walk to his car. Her mother and father came into the room.
“Where did your brother go to already?”
“He said he was going to find a hotel room for the night and he’s going to leave back to Arizona tomorrow.”
They talked for a while before she fell back into another pain killer sleep. Her parents quietly walked out and shut the door behind them.
Four years passed like a car on the freeway, at the Rosewood Insane Asylum. Rebecca gathered her clothes and packed them into plastic grocery bags and got ready to check out. 
“Ready to leave already Rebecca?”
“Yeah… I have to get back to the real world. I’ll see you around Brian.”
She sighed heavily and walked out the door. As she turned to walk to her taxi a loud crack split the air and she dropped face first to the sidewalk. A bullet from a sniper rifle had pierced her skull on the left exiting through her right eye ball.