THE APARTMENT ACROSS THE STREET

Day after day, moment after moment she plays, waiting for fate to take its course. Her eyes fill with tears as her fingers dance along the black and white keys of the antique polished oak piano... the only thing her recently deceased grandmother has left her... the only thing she owns. She sits before her window screaming her pain through tones and notes, flooding the city streets with sadness and despair, but she never looks out. Day after day i sit and i wait for her to play the pain that she plays. She only wears black when she plays, she only smiles when she doesn't. So lonely... so alone. begging for the world to hear her but after a city block, her tears blend with with the traffic of the new york streets and subsides to nothing more than a voice in the wind... her biggest fear. Today feels different. I pull up a chair to my window and wait patiently as i do everyday but still today feels different for some reason. She isn't late because she's never on time so why does today feel so different...? tbc

PROLONGED TORTURE AND FALSE PROMISES

I stand above the river atop a small platform with a waist high metal brown railing before me and a dimly lit street lamp hoovering overhead. My red and white New York hat firmly capped over my head gently weighed down by Brooklyn Express hoodie. My hands rest in the snug confort of my cotton pockets, my right clutching my mp3 player, my left alone. I stare out into the distance taking in the beauty of it all. The waves crash against the shore lines as if they would have gone on forever if not halted by the jagged rocks. The moonlight quetly strokes the nights sky, cascading over the water like a giant silver silk blanket. Thunder cracks in the distance and fades as quickly as it arrives. T-Pain's "Fly Away" plays in my ears, nurturing my soul, understanding me far beyond my current problems. My feet stay firmly planted a foot before the newly painted railing. The nights subtle breeze carress my face. I stare and stare. The river holds more secrets than I will ever know. I listen and listen some more. The winds become stronger, attempting to force me away from the railing, never towards. At this very moment i know that if the winds decides to change course and force me toward the railing I would not argue, I would not fight, i would not prevent. I would topple over into the vast blackness, souless yet prideful, without removing my hands from my pockets.I would close my eyes and let myself fade away, forgetting the plattform, forgetting the railing.I stand on air, willing to blow away in the next big gust of wind... It never happens. I open my eyes once again, I stare once again, I stand once again. The water is like a desert, so infinite, so empty, so still. The wind becomes stronger, once again forcing me away from the railing as if to talk me out of my becoming plan. My strength weakens, I give into natures forceful modesty. Tomorrow "DAWNS" another day.

BLACK ROSE

She has never forgotten what she has always known, that she is nothing more than a failure in a hairnet who has has and will spread her legs to the slightest hint of affection. names hold no meaning or value in her mind anymore. She has sucked, licked, and swallowed some of the most lethal incurrable diseases to spread amongst man. "Juicy" across her ass below her her applebottom jeans accompanied by a 1920's flapper dressed in a candle-apple red stripper heels with a matching braziere untied just enough to expose her voluptuous beautiful plump breast. They called her that for as long as she could remember every since her mother had gone and left her to a petofile father, after running off with some strange man she'd met on the subway.Where was her mother now???? God only knew.For as long as she could remember she'd never known a real relationship with a man. She'd always been a hostage never a girlfriend. The most love she'd know had come soon after her mother had gone. Blessed with beauty her father had began mallesting her early on crushing her petite 10 yr. old frame huffing and puffing sweat beading down his 6'2" 250 pound hairy unkept body. She'd shrieked in pain the first couple of times but became used to it as time went on So many gifts' so many promises given to keep her quiet though she knew that she would neever tell a soul. Oddly enough she began to question herself in the manner a wife would, wonderin if she would one day lose the love of her life to another woman. At age 43 her father had been diagnosed with lung cancer which had been killin him for some time. At age 46 he died a very painful slow death leaving her on a path of spiraling depression and lonlier than ever.Something was wrong and she'd known it from the begining. No daughter was suposed to make love to her father. That wasn't right, that wasn't sane. She made a silent vowel to never speak of the past to anyone while aslo surrendering to the fact that she would never find another man as good as her father. At thirteen she still posessed the mindset of a small child rendering her clueless to the world. She clutched at the small golden cross necklace she'd worn since removing it from her fathers neck on his death bed.He'd left her nothing else. She was alone on her own on her way to an all girls home where she'd once again be mallested by someone considered a father figure. 12 girls all slave to the abusive high strung sexist who though of himself as god. "No time was enough time" was his motto which had become more of a chant than anything.By my 14th birthday he'd taught me everything that i would ever need to know about how to be a successful prostitute. I was wrong to call it an all girls home, this was nothing short of amodern day whore house, smelling of old fat unbathed men, funky pussy and vommit. 8 rooms to be filled at all times. A small dagger tucked just beneath the stain sheets in case we had to fight one of the drunken bastards off of us. Rarely did the sheets leave the bed. From the moment the door closed until finally reaching the bed was usually enough time to make some fat fuck blow his load. Simply put, "No time was enough time".From swallowin cum to licking ass it could all be done in 60 seconds if you had the right technique. Deep pussy was irrelevant if you had a deep throat. From the thickest dicks to the pencil thins, from the largest to the smallest every dick wanted the same thing... to cum. I have been raped, stabbed, shot, beaten bloody and left for dead. I have been tricked, conned, laced, betrayed, and down right lied to. I have been had chlamydia, ghonoria, crabs, head lice and the clap... and the list goes on. Rick ran this fuckin business like the world owed him a day to day fee to exist or something.No-one benefits from the business but him. Everything from mercedes bens's to Chrysler 300's littered the entire southside of L.A.where he'd bought a new piece of property atleast once a month. Most of the southside belonged to him. Throughout the entiire city he was one of the most sought out business men. He handed out business cards like trick-or-treat candy.On the side he also owned a small fed-ex conpany whic doubled as a drug trafficking corporation where he could ship pure columbian cocaine throughout the entire city without worry.From paid off police officers to the fuckin mayer everyone was a client; getting fucked and sucked by underage girls. From getting my pussy ate by my fourth period teacher to suckin goff a priest, it could all be done here. There was no-one to tell because everyone already knew.If they weren't being fucked then they were being paid off.There was no escaping. Two years ago a girl decided to escape. She was gone for two days before she was brought back by her own uncle where she was beaten beyond recognition and submitted into a 6 month coma. Two days after being released she was back to selling her body... Her first customer was her uncle. There is no such thing as escape. Evey girl in the kitty house went to St. Augustines not because Rick wanted the best education for us but because he like the little school girl uniforms. The knee highs the plaid skirt and the white button down shirt. He believed that we should live the innoncent role as well as play it os that when customers come in they dont that were just getting into character. "Why show them a dream when the worlds wants reality?". Another one of Ricks mottos. But most of the time we never wore clothes, only stripper heels or pumps. The doorbell rings and we all line up shoulder to shoulder, youngest to oldest. Right now 15 was the oldest and 11 the youngest. Most people woke up from nightmares, Me?? I wake up to one everyday of my life. I sweat fear and cry rain while waiting for the troops to bust down the door and rescue me from my torture. I just want to run away to anywhere far away from here. I want to become as free as the people who walk the New York streets listening to their I-Pods and singing as loudly and as horribly as they please as they make their way through the crowded walkways. I just want to be free. I stare aroun dcrowded rooms and notice that their are only two types of straight women: house wives and dick chasers there is no in between. Now most women would disagree with me on this so let me explain why. Most dick chasers end their careers as hoes wanting to be housewives, spreading their legs to any hint of affection. Most of the time this fails them miserably because by the time all is done no-one wants sloppy mangled mangy old pussy. But if this does work then they usually end up with someone who misuses and abuses them while they think that their experiencing love in its purest form, so they put their all into it while dealing with constant bull shit and calling it love. Bottom line is all women need to feel loved. As for the housewives, most of them either spend their lives looking for love or waiting for love. Along the way they may run into a little turbulence and have a few ho-ish episodes but the never forget that needy feeling in their hearts; the longing to be loved, held and carressed. That feeling where she wants to have sex not for the pleasure but because of the cuddling that follows. That need for love. So in conclusion your either a housewife or a dick chaser. There is no in betewwen... TBC

THE SOUND OF RAIN

The glistening streets riddled with millions of tiny explodong slpatters of raindrops beneath the nights sky, illuminated by the subtle flood of moonlight peeking from beyond the deepest of purple clouds. Thunder claps so loud it sounds as if massive forest trees are being ripped and torn from their roots, hoisted into the air and broken in half by the knees of giants right outside of my living room window... THE SOUND OF RAIN..... I stare off into the distance looking at the sound of rain, wathing music in its purest form, feeling that feeling of being rebourn. Inadequacy fades. I search my mind harder than i've ever searched it in hopes to find something i've never learned. All is lost to the sound or rain. Thunder claps once again. The storm speaks to me in the voice of a beautiful poem. A single tear escapes me. I now know the secrets of the darkside of the moon.... TBC

MOONLIGHT MELLOW

To be touched by the light of the moon shimmering down on us amongst the many many stars yet so alone. To be such a vivid portrait of the true meaning of forever. To sustain such a powerful presence, but go so unnoticed. To speak so clearly without any use of words. To float forever without the wings of birds. To do but never act out a verb. I AM ALONE. Segregated in plain sight. The swoop without the dive. The glide without the kite. The left without the right. ALONE... Swimming in the murky depths of nothingness, not a destiny in mind let alone in sight, paralyzed by fear yet drifting... deeper. deeper. Hungry to be noticed, yet full of lonliness I AM ALONE. Speak but never spoken for. Here, but never heard before. Plenty but always wanting more. Give me what im wanting for. Do i have to scream until the paints peel from the walls and fall to the broken floors? Do i have to speak in a language never heard or spoken before? Do i have to find the only key to a freedom beneath the sea in a world behind a door never opened before? Maybe so...

STOLEN LAUGHTER

I fly sometimes. I walk on water sometimes.I even die sometimes. Whos to say that my experience in my own mind is a lie??? I stop breathing for hours upon hours sometimes... And suddenly i remember to breathe. Suddenly i remember to care. Suddenly i remember to care about the people who were never there to care about me. I create a world of utopian bliss that fills me with laughter and joy until i am snatched back into reality by some dreaded hooded figure. He never speaks. He lurks amongst the the most darkest of corners and hides amongst the most evil of shadows. Hes never forgotten but never spoken of. He glides so patiently that it almost feels like an honor to have been blessed with his presence... But i know better. I see past the smiles and laughter. I sometimes see so deeply that i fear being traumatized by the lies buried so deep under the surface. Buried deep beneath cold colorless flesh lies the truth of the soul. The laughter the body posesses becomes a stain on the world around them so genuine that it spreads like a virus, infecting all things alive and well. Still i watch. Same hoody, same blank expression. I am alone. I am alone waiting for nothing... and it comes. Nothing always comes. I breathe a sigh as i see it progressing towards me right on schedule as it always is. Smiling.... Smiling so broadly that i smile too. I lose again today as i always do.I smile for the approaching evil as if i have been presented with a surprise gift of my liking. I lose. I always lose. I always will...

How would it feel to look at life through the eyes of fate, or foresee your own death through the eyes of evil??? Could we comprehend the plan? Could we take in the sight of our own death and go on living life normally??? How would you explain it to someone without making it sound like a suicide; sure enough if you die in the precise manner that you predicted most would believe it to be suicide. How does it feel to actually