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 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 incurable diseases to spread amongst man. "Juicy" across her ass below her applebottom jeans accompanied by a 1920's flapper dressed in a candle-apple red stripper heels with a matching brassiere 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 pedophile 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 molesting her early on crushing her petite 10 yr. old frame huffing and puffing sweat beading down his 6'2" 250 pound hairy unkempt 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 never tell a soul. Oddly enough she began to question herself in the manner a wife would, wondering 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 killing him for some time. At age 46 he died a very painful slow death leaving her on a path of spiraling depression and lonelier than ever. Something was wrong and she'd known it from the beginning. No daughter was supposed 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 also surrendering to the fact that she would never find another man as good as her father. At thirteen she still possessed 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 molested by someone considered a father figure. Only weeks had gone by after my fathers death before blood and mucus-like gunk spewed from my body, soaking the fabric of my sundress and flooding the floor beneath me. My water had broken. I was about to give birth to my fathers child and my own sibling. I had long ago abandoned middle school. Not that it mattered. My attendance had become so spiratic that i had probably already been taken off the roster long ago. Social services came and went, leaving sticky notes riddled with phone numbers and threats, but this was L.A., nothing ever lasted. One week they were here by the next they were completely forgotten. Time went by and my stomach grew and grew. Never once did my father mention a thing aobut it. He would just sit in his recliner and grunt every now and then without ever leting his eyes leave the television. Now he was gone and I was all alone, bleeding in some dark alley wit noone to turn to. An explosion erupted in my stomach, sending sharp pains all through my vagina. The blood kept flowing and flowing, almost gushing. The pain had become unbearrable, stabbing and slicing at my insides. I clutched wildly at my dress, cupping the fabric between my legs to stop the blood flow. It wasn't working. Another thunderous blow of pain shot through my womb. I cupped harder but it was too late. Through a small tear in my dress i could feel it escasping me and then the world went black....

Three days later i awoke to a faint beeping sound and shuffling feet only to find myself in a hospital bed strapped and laced with so many wires and IV's that i lost patience trying to figure out which wire was hooked to what machine. I skimmed the quiet room spotting my dress cleaned and folded on a nearby chair."What was i wearing"? I had never been to a hospital for as long as i could remeber. I beleive that my father feared the doctors catching my lack of innocence. I lifted the blankets and spotted the the white robe against my naked body. "SHIT, THE BABY". Where was it??? "DO THEY KNOW WHO I AM?" "SHIT"! I had to get out of here. Surely somebody would come asking questioons:"Who are you? Who's child is that? Where are your parents?" The list would be endless. I had only one option: RUN! And so i did, I hopped from the bed ripping and snatching neeldes from my body. The machines started to go nuts, flooding the room with siren sounds. "SHIT". I had no time. I had to get out. I snatched my dress from the chair and bolted out into the hallway, blood starting to trickle down my arm and pok-o-dot the shinnering white floors before me as my arms pumped back and forth like pistons. To my left i could see the beginnings of a nurses station, and further ahead a big gray door reading: "Stairs", and just above that: "EXIT". Still no nurses or doctors in sight, only a young couple who seemed to walking the halls to dialate or... "The Nursery". The sign hung from the ceiling like a sign from god. My stomach lurched and my heart ached as the you couple disappeared through the door. Tears filled my eyes blurring my vision, begging me to stop and go in. "JUST STOP AND GO IN, EVERYTHING WILL BE OK. PLEASE JUST STOPPPP". My heart was begging me, pleading with me to just stop, but my legs were no longer in my control. No one stationed the small nursing area, nor had anyone stationed my soul any longer. I had become a stranger to myself, never to return to the person i thought i was. Today was the day that i died. I hit the door at full throttle, the rest is a blur. I cried for days after that, sleeping in vacant alleys, eating from dumpsters and sharing meals with rats. Two weeks later as i lay limp in my own urine, weak from hunger, blue and red lights flooded the dark alley. Too weak to move, i closed me eyes and tried to believe it was all a dream but as fate would have it, the torture was just beginning. I was taken to a nearby detention center where i was then left for the night. Conversation was nearly nonexistent. I tried to speak once or twice: "my name is...", the officer held up a single finer as to hush me. "I know your kind", he said, "Now sit back and shut up". I was given a fresh pair of clothes, directed to take a shower, and locked into a small brick room with nothing more than a cement slab dressed with a thin mucus green rubber mattress and small desktop mounted to the tan brick wall. Oddly enough, I knew that tonight would be the best night of sleep i'd had in a long time.



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 modern day whore house, smelling of old fat sunbathed men, funky pussy and vomit. 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 swallowing 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, honoree, crabs, head lice and the clap... and the list goes on. Rick ran this firkin 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 bend’s to Chrysler 300's littered the entire Southside of L.A. where he'd bought a new piece of property at least once a month. Most of the Southside belonged to him. Throughout the entire 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 company which 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 fucking mayor everyone was a client; getting fucked and sucked by underage girls. From getting my pussy ate by my fourth period teacher to sucking off 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. Every girl in the kitty house went to St. Augustine’s 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 innocent role as well as play it so that when customers come in they don’t 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 around crowded 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 caressed. 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 between.

Only weeks had gone by after my fathers death before blood and mucus-like gunk spewed from my body, soaking the fabric of my sundress and flooding the floor beneath me. My water had broken. I was about to give birth to my fathers child and my own sibling.

THE SOUND OF RAIN

The glistening streets riddled with millions of tiny exploding splatters of raindrops beneath the nights sky, illuminated by the subtle kiss 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 over 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, watching music in its purest form, feeling that feeling of being reborn. 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 dark side 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

LOVE = IMPENDING DOOM

"I love you". The most commonly misused quote amongst our time... Did you notice? Did you one day stare off into the eyes of the love of your life only to find that their once soulful illuminating eyes had gone dark and shallow? You no longer gave them the strength and dreaminess that they'd once posessed. How do you recover from something so vague and heartbreaking. Who do you turn to when the only person who has ever cared for you has become the very reason for your pain? Who do you run to when life comes to a screeching halt only to reverse back into the familiar neighborhood of lonliness? Somebody somewhere is watching. Somebody somewhere cares. Who sees farther than the pain, the suffering? You do. Nobody sees like you do. Nobody sees the sea like the sea shore sieze the sea. Nobody. Praying takes its toll. Depression settles. Perscriptions are filled... and misused. Sleep blocks reality. Reality becomes alcohol. The label reads : "!!WARNING!! DO NOT TAKE WITH ALCOHOL". Sleep becomes permanant. Unanswered questions. A life forgotten to the true meaning of the word "LOVE". LOVE = IMPENDING DOOM... Read it and weep.

THERE"S ALWAYS A BEGINNING

Sometimes reality takes its toll. Sometimes i lose myself in my own mind, wandering for days, exploring the lonely man behind the curtain, in search of answers to questions i have yet to ask. What would it be like to view the most vicious of people through their own web cam without them knowing? Most call it voyeurism, i call it reality at its peak. A lonely man is most himself when alone. We believe that we know someone until we barge in at the most revealing of times... "Ha... I caught you. Explain yourself". The dark only hides so much. The buried can easily be dug up. Why shelter ourselves in our own minds??? Rain in the sunshine. Being found out becomes your biggest fear. You smile when tears are more nescessary. You parade amongst the back row when scared of being called upon. You glide only on the toughest of surfaces, confident that you will never fall through until.... The tears come. The fear is released. The smile fades, revenge takes its place. Who's responsible? The sad truth settles in. I AM WHO I AM. They now know me. No more living beneath the surface, avoiding the radar. I AM FREE. Free to soar as a bird in the sky so high... that im scared to look down. Im scared of the past. Im scared of the fact that i am revealed. The fact that i no more wear the cloak of incognito. Somebody saw. Someone pulled the cloak from my being. "SURPRISE", they yelled. Silence followed. Mouths agape. Staring... Staring... The dreadful staring. They seen me. THEY SEEN ME. There is a new beginning at every end you just have to turn around. Someone always sees. But there's always a beginning.

THE SQUARE AMONGST THE CIRCLES

Im not gone compromise my identity to make it easier for the people who never gave a fuck in the first place. I am who I am. I will not stunt, front, or smile for someone in hopes to further myself in the "IN CROWD". Nobody gives a fuck. You are who you are. Never let the mouth of someone who has and will never have anything, tell you how to be yourself. Around here drama usually starts as a conversation attempt. Its not always about someone trying to get shit started, but more about trying to degrade everone around them until they feel that they are better than someone else, while avoiding the real problem... "My life is fucked up". Sometime the answer is closer than we make it. Sometime we see past the answer in search of more problems. Life is far too short to lower yourself to the ridicule. Be you. If you do it long enough, you will find more people like you. Dont be the square that shaved off all his corners to fit in with the circles. Do you. Its easier to be you alone than it is to live life as a fraud...

OBLIVIOUS TO THE OBVIOUS

How don't we ever see the obvious? How do we function so normally amongst tragedy? Its like our bliss never ceases. Our days glide along so dancingly throughout the misleaded dimensions of false reality we call "The Truth". Nobody warns us of the many starvation deaths to come that day in some third world country... Somehow that doesn't make it non-existent. Its easier to ignore than it is to prevent, always has been and always will be. No-one speaks of the 8yr old soldier boy who had to kill off his entire family to prove his worthiness... To save his own life. Nobody fears the unknown. Yet everyone fears the unknown. Time is never wasted only deprived, it continues rather we want it to or not. Clockwork. So bold to use that word in referring to death. Clockwork. Time is everything, nothing escapes. We smile until the end.... Then we weep. If only life was always as easy as staying OBLIVIOUS TO THE OBVIOUS...

THE INVISIBLE FATHERS... WHO STAYED

Forever forgotten, yet standing in plain sight. Look at me. IM HERE. Doing what i got to do for my family. WHO'S WATCHING? Nobody... nobody sees, nobody looks as usual, not knowing that their very dismissal of me is whats leading me to become a father astray. Am i wrong for wanting to be addressed as the father of my own kids? Am i wrong for being upset that i am looked down upon, as if i cant love my own children as much as a mother can? Why am i never asked the questions in the doctors offices? Wasn't i there? Didn't they see me? They stare past me like i'm a window screen, searching for someone who better fits the description of a person who is supposed to be the "more suitable parent", the mother. They conversate, she smiles and nods her head in agreement, i watch from the furthest deepest crevice in the darkest corner of the room where i immediately make friends with the spiders and cashew peanut that was dropped and never found. The conversation ends. I crawl to me feet, dust myself off and thank my new friends for the wonderful time i had and assure them that we will do it all again sometime. I rush off and join her side. "How'd you get so dirty"? she ask. "long story, ill tell you later", i reply. Later never comes. Forever forgotten, Yet standing in plain sight i sit and wait in agony for the appology of a mother, whom has no idea that she has done anything wrong. Should i have to remind her that i would like to be treated like the father that i am. Am i forever cursed to this cloak of invisibility? Who knows? I can't change the opinion of society. I cant put my life on a loud speaker for the world to hear. But i can wear this title and wear it proudly. Though i may be invisible to the world, i will always be seen as father by my children. So with that, here is my personal tribute to THE INVISIBLE FATHERS WHO STAYED. It's better to be invisible than not to be at all.

The Beginning of the Future

... To be beyond or beneath? To sustain or regain? Forever trapped behind the walls that we have built around ourselves, we wait. Nothing comes, nothing goes... silence. We hush ourselves in hopes of more silence. "Maybe someone will hear my silence..." Doesn't make sense. Does at the time, thats all that really matters. No-one is watching, no-one is waiting... The truths begans to set in. You are as free as you make yourself. You no longer have to be only a listener. Speech becomes imperrative. Once lost but never forgotten, the phoenix once again emerges from the ashes of the flames that initially claimed its life. The beauty amongst destruction. The way the world comes together in times of tragedy. The absoulte uncertainty of what tomorrow holds. We are the eye of the beholder. We are the smiles of strength. We are the backbone of reality, the vitality of the future. We are... The begining.

The Patients of Impatience

Its like we tag along forever expecting the world to pull our weight. We die far before our souls leave our body, some of us are aware others aren't. We pace and we pace, searching our shallow depths for the answers to questions that others has had to ask for us. Failure commences once again, tearing away any fiber of confidence your fragile being has ever posessed, dominating your total thought, leaving you nothing more than a sack of disregarded skin and bone. Your vision blurs as you stare through your constant flow of tears at a photo of someone who has never loved you but instead devoted his/her life to making yours a living hell. Love shields you from the truth despite the many times you have nearly lost your life to this person. Somewhere along the lines you settle yourself amongst the lessor of two evils, fighting for the right to love and be loved yet you never tend to see the obvious, you are the only one loving, no-one has ever loved you. Patience... Not here. Wrong word. Impatience. All morals are forgotten. Because of impatience we are driven out of Paradise, because of impatience we cannot return. Who's to say that our progress will supercede those of the many who has tried and failed miserably? Who's to say that we wont somehow get lucky and maintain our faith and sublte confidence and push past the debris? All that I am saying is that in the end all detour signs take you to the same place through a diffferent route, its up to you to choose your destination...

ARE YOU A PATIENT??????

THE REALITY OF REJECTION

Its like so much of nothing matters anymore. They say that so much of your childhood is devoted to finding who you truly are when the reality is its more about creating who you really want to be. Sometimes shit surface faster than you want it to causing you to appear more vulnerable than you really are. But even though you know that you arent what people expect you to be, we always tend to fall into that pattern that the've laid out for us. We expect so much from other people while staying so oblivious to the fact that we have done nothing to gain that level of respect or companionship. You have to give a little to get a little. My reality is much different than i may portray it to be. Its like im the go to guy, which most people may love but i loathe. I hate being the only who knows the answer because somewhere along the line everyone becomes dependant of me and my answers... Only called when im needed. "cant make it", now somebody mad at me like i let them down, when the truth is that they let themselves down. "freinds" dont exist where im from, only people you know and people you dont know. Why hide the truth and die with the facts? Its not worth it. Everone knows the answers, but no-one admits to truth. The biggest cover-up throughout history... Truth... The truth behind THE REALITY OF REJECTION.