If it can make you stronger

it can kill you

personally, I like

the sentiment

but respectfully disagree

Sunday in the diner

walking in, a homeless guy

hits me and my buddy

up for

one dollar

to get a dollar burger

my buddy waits by the door

and I think about it

the homeless guy mentions

something about showing me

some kind of homeless card

or crazy card he has

and I pull a five-spot from

my wallet

he snatches it:

"Thanks, man. You're badass."

He walks off and I follow

my buddy inside and he looks at

me and smiles

I scratch my protruding gut:

"Tell me something I don't know, motherfucker."

We laugh and get our booth

order and eat while I watch

more homeless out

the window

peppering the outside

full with the scrubbed-clean

after-worship crowd

as they begin to pile in

for breakfast

I think about them

clean like soap

every Sunday

the industry of Christ

if we want to truly

help the homeless

and kill the national

deficit, provide true

and humanely

accessible health care,

and all the etceteras

that follow these,

tax the churches

but I take my thoughts

of these dead horse thoughts

of all this

and watch the sunlight

battle through

a bright grey sky

and the coffee

begins its coursing

while I remember all

the love and hate

and platitudes and

erase them from my

mind at once

and realize that because or

in spite of

everything around me

I am happy

and think back to my favorite

Nietzsche quote:

The Trouble With Happiness

"Now everything I touch turns out to be wonderful. Now I love any fate which comes my way. Who feels like being my fate?"

her fingertips were stained violet from the berries she placed

in your mouth and

from the ink of the love letters

you insisted she write

her tongue was stained scarlet

from kissing your fury

and from wine you refused

to let go to waste

her feet were stained black

from walking in your shadow

and from stepping on your

burnt coals of passion that had

long expired

her back was stained cherry

from you holding on too tight

and from trying to claw and fight

your way back into her heart

your eyes were stained indigo

from the oceans you cried

when she told you goodbye

and walked out of your life

"You! You all!" The man shouted, his eyes narrowed and dark. "I'm here to train you to become warriors, not wusses! Get off your butts and get working!"

We all slowly rose from our chairs and glanced wearily in the man's direction, ready for orders, but also ready to sit down again.

The man cracked his whip. "You! You there, the skinny boy with the red pants! Come up here!"

I stepped forward, shaking slightly. What would this man do to me? Much, I supposed, but only if he wanted to.

"Well, then." The man circled me, and randomly lashed out with his whip, just to get me to jump or to dodge the blow. Most of the times, I got a beating, but every once in a while I was able to dodge it, and the man let out a grunt of satisfaction.

"You're a lazy brute," the man reported to me after quite some time of trying to whip me. "I expected better of you--of ALL of you!" He turned to the other boys, who were looking tired--bags were under their eyes, and some of them stumbled around mindlessly.

The man cracked his whip again, and a few of the boys looked up blearily, but then had a sudden interest in their shoes.

"You ALL are lazy brutes!" The man snarled. "You, boy, come up here." He pointed his fat finger at the smallest boy, who was dozing off. "I SAID, COME HERE, YOU!" The man boomed.

The boy bolted upright and ran towards the man, running into his pudgy belly.

The man looked down at the boy, sneering. "Well, well, well. Fresh meat."

Now, I have to tell you, when somebody refers to you as fresh meat, you aren't going to feel safe, exactly. And I felt terrified for the small boy, who was only about six, the youngest.

The man raised his whip, and the boy's eyes widened. His feet were confused, and lumbered around in place, and when he bolted, it was too late.

The whip cracked hard on the boy's back, and he let out a cry of pain, tears welling in his eyes. He glanced at us pleadingly. "H-help me," he gasped. Blood soaked through his shirt.

"Nobody's going to help you," the man laughed menacingly. "You're just a helpless little-"

"L-leave him alone!" I exclaimed. "Leave the boy alone."

The room was silent. The man pushed the boy aside and stepped forward, towards me, like a cat stalking a mouse.

"What did you say?" He asked quietly. The man seemed even more terrifying, soft like that, because you could see the anger bubbling in his eyes, and he was just too calm. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"Leave him alone." I spoke without stutters this time. "You're a coward, to pick on small boys like that. You're a coward."

The man cracked his whip, and a smile played on his lips. "Who you do think you are, Mighty Warrior?" He sneered. "Are you as tall as a skyscraper? Huh? Are you?"

"I'm taller than you'll ever be, you worm!" I said. I shouldn't have been feeding the fire. He was the fire starter, and I was just adding on to it. This is what the man wanted. But he was acting like just a jerk, I just couldn't take it anymore.

The man lashed out with his whip, but he was not testing me this time. I dodged it, luckily, and grabbed a spear from the corner of the room. I had never thrown a spear before, so I was sure to lose this fight. But I had to try, for the sake of the boy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw three other boys grabbing spears, and my heart lightened. Maybe I could win this, after all.

I took a risky move, and I hoped the other boys would realize what they had to do.

I tried to spear the man's foot, but he shot his foot away, throwing himself off-balance. In that time, a boy with about three thousand freckles speared his left calf. The man howled in pain and fell to the floor.

Blood splattered the floor, and the man tried to stagger to his feet, but fell again with a wail. He glared at me with pure hatred in his gaze. "I should have seen that coming," he rasped.

I nodded, and lay my spear down. "That's what you were trying to do, right? Provoke us?"

"Correct, boy." The man glanced at his calf, and winced. "Maybe you aren't a lazy bum after all, but I still have to train you all, and if you are in battle, you may not be that lucky. Understand? Now, go wash off those spears."

I nodded again.

The man was staring at his calf. "And while you're at it, grab me a bandage. If you don't act soon, I'll lose too much blood, and then there will be nobody to whip you. Hurry along, lazy bums!"

I hid a smile as I took the bloody spear and headed towards the bathroom. Maybe battle training wouldn't be so bad after all.

There's a cricket it my room.

I hear it as I lay in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. It's constant chirping, having started a few hours before, is starting to blend together now, and becomes more of an endless warble that picks at my brain uncomfortably. My shoulders are tensing as the irritable sound persists, but I'm too tired to really get angry.

It's too loud.

An ache begins to form behind my eyes and I let out a resigned sigh; but I know. I know that if the chirping stopped, I would miss it. The chirping breaks the awful silence of my room, thus keeping the clawing hands of anxiety away from my mind. But still.

It's too loud.

A

pile

of text

is only as

meaningful

as it's displayed.

That is why I went

with this formatting.

It may not mean much

literally, but it does prove

that style is intriguing to the

reader, especially when it's new

creative, unexpected and different. Additionally, I hope you are liking

this, because it's very enjoyable

to write. And if someone has

made it this far, then there

is only a single task left

to do. The final thing

I want to say is the

following: Thank

you reader, for

finishing it.

Looking

at you.

Yes,

U.

dissecting sentences is an art

even the most honest people

stating the most common phrases

tend to translate incorrectly

between their mind and lips

their lips and my ear

my ear and my mind

nothing is heard as it was spoken

nothing is spoken as it's meant

for everyone

is busy deceiving

themselves

I'll get out of bed when I'm

compelled

I usually never want to

I'll throw down the fire

when I'm compelled

After lots of self doubt

I'll drive to where the road meets

the water when I'm compelled

But only then.

Otherwise, I try to sleep

I'll close my eyes

and pretend I

am just an everyday loser

..and take a 12 minute breather

Praying for the minutes to be long

They fade fast.

When the xanax and nyquil kick in I never want to wake up

Then I go to bad places

To go there

I'm compelled

to go there

to go

I see my dad there a lot

My dad said I wouldn't amount to much

So

I've gotten ten times bigger than he was at his peak

This isn't stopping either.

Fuck him

He haunts my twisted dreams

now

Making them worse and more

desperate

That sick fuck

I wish he would die totally

He lingers, that drunk fuck

He wanders the halls of our old house calling my sisters name in my dream

He lays in bed flesh slightly rotted

He does not realize

I feel it's not right

I remember Cortez street

vividly

I ask him why he won't die in these dreams

Why won't you die?

He ignores, trudges on..

In the dreams it's like we are in the present reality

but he won't die

But he's dead 20 years ago

Why don't you care

He asks me

I said

I just don't.

I can't take this dream anymore

I wake up choking on vomit

It stings

Awake now.

My dad sits there still

He's still alive

The ghosts in me keep my long ago dead body living

This is on them, all them

I tried to die a long time ago

Just wanted to sleep

They keep me alive

They keep me compelled

It's not really me

I will break free

I must stay stay compelled..

Makeup off

On Friday night

Alone again,

What a fright!

I think I may

I think I might,

Ponder writing

Some prose tonight !

When the call came time eclipsed...

I heard the words like a cacophony of futility.

The words... "weeks, perhaps months" ... raced in a circle of Perpetual motion. Only to be followed with "painful, grim...I am so sorry"

I sat numb.... Confused, scared.

I knew that when I returned home I would have to tell Papa... I cringed as I felt the utter devastation of emotion I would unleash...Better from me, then the doctor I told myself.

Later... As tears cascaded, his best friend came to him. He ever so lovingly licked every tear. This selfless action brought fresh tears...

He was confused and worried because his job is to love and protect papa.

If only we could protect you Max.