Mr. Rodriguez

There is no hope here, not in this wasteland of irritating consciousness, why should there be any hope left in me, for me, involving me! He raged clutching a thinning blue T-shirt someone else’s he is sure. Worthless waste of flesh, of resources, of breath. You are sucking all the oxygen up! You’ll leave none for a person of value you retched thing! The voices shouted louder now as his eyes began to bulge toward the artificial sun nothing left? He asked the only voice still a whimper. Pathetic! Only a fool would not recognize how unwarranted your existence is! He laid perfectly still starring up at the light the sterile room becoming stiff as all the air began to disappear with each inhale not real, not real, this-worthless, worthless, hopeless flesh-not real, not real, his breathing quickened and the room became smaller over and over he repeated while the angry voices shouted louder and louder.

The sound of slamming doors startled him eyes still bulging he was sitting up starring out at the world where frantic people pushed and pulled others from the closing doors grasp, but before he knew what was going on his own door shut. Must be time, must be time for it all to end, no hope is left, there is nothing here… he took a slow breath watching the thinning blue shirt rise. There was a smirk growing on his face as the shirt pulled away from his chest a newly born balloon, vivid, and wonderful. He watched as the balloon pushed through the sterile ceiling and artificial sun freedom.

Eyes still bulging he moved stiffly to the closet which crumbled to dust as he opened it. A single metal rod came into sight one that had been worn down for just this occasion. With ease he pulled the rod down one end dressed in a rubber mold the other jagged and singing. It’ll be okay. Its time. He felt a thousand eyes upon him the angry voices cooing now this is what is best, you are only killing people worthy of life. The suffering you bring will end there was no whimper only a calm nod he took the rod to his bed do it, do it now, do it, do it now, do it, do it now. Lifting his wrist he examined the skin a hardened brown that left a bitter taste in his mouth there is no hope, with bulging eyes he took the jagged side of the rod and placed it upon his detested skin the warmth that came welcome as his body began to sing he pulled down the length of his arm feeling for the first time ecstasy. More! The crowd demanded and as someone who loved to please he tried to grip the rod in the other hand but already it was weak. After attempting several times the bulging eyes began to water finish it! DO IT NOW! He dropped the rod the sound of it hitting the tile floor almost deafening in a rage he picked up the rod and with all of his strength-

“Mr. Rodri-“ with all of his strength he attempted to impale his chest missing and hitting his throat blood like bubbles scattered in the air his bulging eyes watching in euphoria as the crowd cheered freedom.

Tip for tazz

You fell to short and think you know me
didn’t quite figure out just how to hold me
and yet your sitting teary eyed
singing sad, horribly written lines.

You’re the guy who plays guitar
in the middle of the party
and everyone is drowning out the melody
with shots of Bacardi.
Sad little truth is that won’t stop it
you’ll keep playing trying to flaunt it,
but just like you the sound is tragic
you are just another white dude
playing vagrant.

And when you read this, I know you will,
you’ll call out bitch and think you’ll shoot to kill,
but honey that’s just where it ends you’ve never
had a spine so why pretend?

Playing the victim once again; crying to
the blonde, it’ll never mend.
that broken heart you carry around
the simple idea that you could hold on to clouds
it all just screams that stupid song,
you called it Goth Girl, but let me tell you its all wrong.

You’ve no idea what you are just a sad lost puppy
chasing stars.
Go back to dancing, high round the fire,
keep thinking that the Gods aspire your existence
for something grand. Yes, keep deluding yourself
it’s their divine master plan.
you fell short it’s simple and sweet
you’re the kind of man that lays at my feet
tell that blonde I broke your spirit, you tried it all
I just wouldn’t hear it,
keep singing your songs, and prancing along,
because one day soon all your luck will be gone.

Keep on crying, singing your songs,
because one day soon the dog eats the dog.

dedicated to M.H.II

Honey, get gone.

So here we are it seems
you’re following all my social media feeds
you’ve got a tally of where I’ve been
you’ve seen my pictures from way back when.
Surely you must think you’re right
to stalk me during the day, your night,
and keep an album of my life,
but honey someone must have told you
you’ve lost sight.
This battle that you’re waging is unhinged
you think you’ve got a leg to stand on
but that’s just it,
you’re sitting with all your material shit
thinking of how you could get back in.
That’s the thing, you let him go, it doesn’t
matter that you’ve a devastated soul.
You want to play, and stalk, and scheme,
but honey believe me this isn’t a thing.
So here we are again it seems
you’ve latched on to something but
don’t know what it means
I’ll spell it out I’m two moves ahead
I know you honey and I’ll put you to bed.
Tuck you in tight so you know where you’ve been
this game that you’ve started I’ll finish in red
and believe me I’ll stand tall until the end
but before we get there let me say this instead;
let it go honey just let it be dead
he’s far better off with me in his bed
so honey let’s end this here and now
back the fuck off and just get on no one really cares how.
just get gone.