Only Four More To Go
Today, we are burying Joe for the third time.
The first time was in 2012 because of a motorcycle accident.
The second time, a skiing accident in 2015.
This time ... suicide.
The Missus is distraught and can't blame her. I'm shook up with this myself.
Does that mean in three more years, it'll start again where we have to bury Joe? I surely hope not, but it seems it's been every three years.
What next? A car wreck? Cancer? I just don't know.
People around here have said the Missus and I were out there on this one, but it was our choice. Well, actually mine, but the Missus went along with it. I got the idea from a boxer. He did it and it worked out good for him, so why not for us, right?
It's a nightmarish hell we live. Wondering when we'll have to go through this again.
We named all our sons, Joe.
No Way Out
and the day before
that son of a bitch
for the third time
but he wouldn’t
he kept rising
to the surface
of sanguine reminders
But this time,
the last time,
as I tied
As I watched
the rope unwind
taking him with it
I became entangled
in the knots
in salty brine
Today we are burying our troubles.
Everything that had every worried our hearts and has filled our souls with grief.
All negative thoughts and those times where life just felt as if it had no meaning.
Today I bury my past.
Gone are those days where I cried to myself feeling like garbage because that was all I knew how to feel.
Today I bury my tears.
Gone are those drops that fell down my cheeks that once felt like release from a life of pain I was living.
Today I bury my demons.
Gone are those dark thoughts which followed me.
Those thoughts which chained me to the darkness and lingered in my head whispering insistantly for me to give up.
Today I finally say goodbye to you all.
Come tomorrow when the sun rises once again I will start anew.
I have mourned my losses it's time to smile at my gains, For all I have lost I have won a lot more.
Sweating In the Noon Day Sun
Today we are burying garlic
for the Third time—
It's a tradition now to take up
these heirloom bulbs,
and split them into singular cloves
We press them well—
an inch or so below the surface;
that's what the old country farmers say
—to grow than this—
but we just don't find it to be so
ever since Count
Dracula came three season's ago.
Let This Be The Last Time…
Today we are burying the ring for the third time. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. My crew looks at me with hollow gazes; they’ve been stuck with me and I’ve been stuck with them for...
Gods, let this be the last time.
The shovel in my hands holds the weight of the land. The soil beneath my bare feet is made of pins and shards. The sun is lava against my face. But the worst of all? The fiend hovering just a few inches from my face. It smiles—it always smiles—rotten gums and wretched teeth, a stagnant stench of mold emanating from its pores. It never leaves. It doesn’t move. It looms over me, shackled by invisible chains; the chains of my doom.
Gods, let this be the last time…
I dig up a hole large enough to bury a baby dragon. My palms are sticky, my face drenched. They all stare at me with glassy eyes only the dead should have. I don’t blame them. It is I who got them into this mess. I thought I could beat it. Curses, after all, are easily broken by those raised by a witch. I was wrong. So wrong. For the wealth of a lifetime, we were condemned in misery.
The soil is marked with blood from the battle of Athehorne. Hundreds lie beneath, bones turned to dust. This is what it wants. I just hope that this time the bloodshed will be enough. This land is considered the unholiest place of our known world. It should be enough. It has to be…
I finish up and drop the shovel. My heart is racing. Another try… Another decade of waiting… We are all bound to the curse, as am I to the shadow. Our punishment? To feel nothing but emptiness. Hunger that’s never satiated. Thirst that’s never quenched.
It’s been thirty years…
I kneel and place the ring in the middle as if it’s made of snowflakes. Now it’s my crew’s turn to do the deed… The entity smiles a little wider. It’s pleased…
My feet get covered, then my knees. Once the dirt reaches my waist I can no longer move. The hardest part are the shoulders. I’ve experienced it before but it doesn’t get easier… I wheeze and cough but the more I struggle, the more my tongue feels like sandpaper, the more my lungs feel on fire. The sounds become a muffled buzzing. I see and then I do not.
It’s all black now… It should be over soon. If I’m right, then this is my last breath.
Gods, let this be the last time…
Today we are burying Bob for the third time.
That stupid son of a bitch just won't stay dead!
First I shot him, then I pushed him off the cliff. Finally I cut his head clean off with my ax to make sure his ass stays dead this time.
What do you know?! The next morning I wake up to the sight of that old boy walking down the road with no head! Scared the shit out my old woman.
I was more pissed than anything else. That boy owed me near a hundred dollars and he ain't paid a cent of it!
Now I'm sure you must think I'm mean and spiteful like a snake, but I was real gentlemanly about it at first. Every damn time I would ask "Bob, have you got my money yet?" He'd always say "Not yet Kevin, but I will soon". After three months I had to ask him what his definition of soon is, 'cus mine sure as hell ain't three months.
"Things have been hard lately. I'm barely scraping by even with your loan. Just give me some more time," he begged.
I'm on hard times myself which is why I needed my damn money, but I'm not heartless like the whole neighborhood thinks I am. So I compromised with him. "Now Bob," I says real polite like, "I know times are tough, so how's about you pay me whatever you can now and you can pay the rest once you've gotten back on your feet?".
"Alright Kevin. How's about I pay you tomorrow?"
"Sure Bob," I smiled and shook his hand real friendly like.
So I'm there the next day same place and time, but Bob doesn't show up! I waited near three hours for his ass. So I decided to find him myself.
And what do you know?! I found Bob, but not just Bob. I found three gals and a whole lot of cocaine with him.
"Damn it Bob!" I yelled. "I gave you that money to help you get back on your feet, and now you're blowing it all on CRACK AND WHORES?!?!?!!"
Bob did a line off of one of the gal's ass's and looked at me solemnly. "Kevin," he says "They're crack whores. There's a difference,".
"I DON'T GIVE A GOOD GOD DAMN WHAT THEY ARE! GIVE ME MY MONEY! NOW!"
"Now is the time where I should be assuring you that I'll give you your money, but fuck it. I did spend it all on these crack whores."
I'd had enough of Bob's shit at this point. I drew out my gun and shot him right between the eyes. The crack turned pink with his blood. The women all stared at me for a moment, then went back to doing crack.
Well, there must have been some magic in that old crack pipe he smoked, because the next morning I saw him while I was walking to work. Other than the bullet in his head, he looked completely fine.
"Hi Kevin!" He said as he smiled and waved at me.
I was shook!
"B-but I killed you Bob," I stammered.
"Hey Kevin, I need about $3.50,".
"You'll get nothing and like it!" I yelled as I shoved him off the cliff. I heard his body go SPLAT as he hit the ground.
The same thing happened the next day, only this time I had my ax with me.
He was all flattened out like a ho cake.
"Hey Kevin! I need about $3.50," he asked.
"I don't have no $3.50!" I yelled as I chopped his head off.
Thinking for sure he was dead this time, my old lady and I decided to go out and celebrate. It was a hell of a night I'll tell you what! But the next morning I woke up to her screaming "Oh sweet Jesus it's Bob!!!!!!!!!".
And sure enough, there he was. No head or nothing, just walking down the streets.
I heard a voice whisper "Hey Kevin, can you spare $3.50?"
I looked down and saw Bob's head staring up at me.
"GOD DAMN IT BOB! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO KILL YOU FOR YOU TO STAY DEAD?!?!?!?!" I yelled as I kicked his head away like a dang old soccer ball.
Now I have no idea what to do. Shooting him don't work, pushing him don't work, and cutting his head off sure don't work. If only there was a way to-
"Hey you, reading this. Can I borrow $3.50?".
Today we are burying The Man for the third time,
And we hope that this time will be his last affair.
The first time we buried The Man,
He had been shot dead,
With a single bullet hole,
Going right into his head.
The killer cried for mercy,
As they charged him at trial,
It was a demon he said,
Arguing against our denial.
But then The Man,
A stranger to town,
Rose from his grave,
Wearing a frown.
It was eerie and strange,
Something no one could explain,
Why this man should be dead,
Lying still with no pain.
With The Man walking about,
It was hard to charge the other with death,
So he was charged with attempted murder,
Changing our minds as we all held our breath.
The second time we buried The Man,
He had been cooked to a crisp,
Locked in an oven,
Leaving nought but a wisp.
The ashes were layed out,
Gently and with fear,
On a sunny hillside,
Where none shed a tear.
The culprit we found out,
Was a well known thief of earned pay,
And the trial was again so clear,
Deliberating took merely a day.
But once more,
Before the verdict rang out,
The Man reappeared,
Causing many to shout.
His face was half formed,
And he seemed to be made of dirt,
Eyes and pores leaking fine silt,
Forming a tattered brown shirt.
This time the priest,
Who had attended the hearing,
Took out his holy water,
Heaving it towards the presence overbearing.
The Man began to shriek,
His falling dirt turning red,
His body stopped forming,
Leaving everyone with a sense of dread.
Looking half human,
The once-man now stood,
His degraded features,
Creating a nightmarish hood.
He laughed just once,
And said in stride,
Of course it was the priest,
Splashing me, that would cause me to die.
Today we are burying The Man for the third time,
And we hope that this time we will end this nightmare.
52nd and 3rd Ave
My hurt echoes into my cloth.
It’s loud, primal.
A swollen jaw houses clenched teeth and a bruised tongue.
Brain slams against the wall, I disconnect.
How long have I been in this stall?
Toilets suck up the filth, I am unmoved.
Light bones creep to the sink, bloody hands
put on my face.
I scream into my cloth.
Something is dying.
I practice my charm in the mirror
And meet her in the sun.
Today we are burying my addiction for the third time.
Today I am burying my emotions for the third time this month. Now adays times are rough, bullying increases with each word that spills out of my mouth at the wrong time, but what can I expect it is highschool after all. Emotional tensions have risen at a drastic rate since middle school and everyone is quite judgemental on every subject. Groups have been decided since the year began, unfortunatly I ducked out on the 'cool kids' group, in fact I'm still unsure if I even had the slightest chance of being incorporated into that section of society. My class has been determind as the lowest of the low, a dork... D.O.R.K, defined by the bullies as Dumb, Ordinary, Ridiculous, Kid, the very thing everyone is 'dying' to be associated with. In my school emotions belonging to the D.O.R.K class may aswell be thrown away, in other words no one cares in the slightest. Life though still goes on, harsh as it may be...