• Narrative

I don’t remember your face,
But it’s not your fault,
Too much I drank,
Shots without halt,

Blurred vision I saw,
Couldn’t speak clearly,
You dived in raw,
I struggled dearly.

You thrusted my body,
Clenched me to your hip,
Screamed and I budged,
But couldn’t escape your grip.

Hand over my mouth,
Tears streamed down my face,
Gasping for air,
You increased the pace.

Faster and harder,
I was to weak,
Soon you would finish,
All over me and leak.

I don’t remember your face,
But you haunt me,
Fingers playing with my body,
Like I was your toy dolly.

Sweat of your pores,
Continuous huff of your breath,
Only inside me once,
But it feels like you never left.

• Narrative

The piercing sharp blade,
Gutted deep into my lip,
As I saw a white line,
Attached to a ship.

The line budged, tugged and pulled,
But the metal would not slip.
How was I so easily fooled?
As more blood began to drip.

I swam up and down,
And even left and right,
Despite my attempts to escape,
I would not win this fight.

I slowly approached the air,
Continuously gasping for water,
The tare burned my mouth,
Mentally preparing me for my slaughter.

As I reached the surface,
I pondered my purpose,
But I flipped and I flopped,
Begging to be free.

The human reeled me in,
As I dangled upon the line
Looked me in the eyes,
And said “It’s not your time.”

My mouth yanked,
And the hook was released,
Back into the water I was thrown,
But this near death experience,
Left me internal peace.

• Narrative

the broken door squeaks,
as his boots clammer in,
sighing under his breath,
“fuck this place” yet again.

his breath smells of whisky,
and stumbles through the hall,
I lock my door and close it,
trying to hear nothing at all.

I turn on the tv,
blasting it as loud as I can,
make haste to retrieve my journal,
and push down on my ballpoint pen.
~ why does writing make me feel safe?

• Narrative

Searching for a high,
I cannot reach,
enough is enough,
they never teach.

They take your money,
and they take your soul,
when does it stop?
when you're no longer whole.

Putting pieces together,
half by half,
can't figure myself out,
where is my path?

I can't save myself,
lost in a dream,
"I have another dollar"
says inside, the fiend.

If there's a will there's a way,
as I come crashing down again,
nothing much left of me,
just nausea, thoughts and my pen.