#4: An Emotional Rollercoaster.

The smell of vomit and the taste of blood was all that he could sense now, nothing else was of interest to him, yet at the same time, everything else was what he wanted. “No,” he told himself, “I need to save him.”

He swayed forward, his lumbering leg digging itself into the ground, providing support for the rest of his body. His threw his other leg forward, then his other leg, and in this strange dance did he march onward. He disregarded the outstretched arms looking for refuge, shaking one off when a hand grasped his leg. The moans of demise resonated in his eardrums, “I can’t save you,” he announced, “I can’t save any of you.” In time, the arms began to drop, and he was allowed passage to march.

There, in the middle, he saw him, circled by his enemies. The dreadful monsters, a mob surrounding a little innocent boy who did nothing wrong. The legs that once felt like iron now became feathers, and he rushed towards the boy. He lifted his third arm up, the one made out of metal and filled with death, “Get away from him!” he shouted with empty threats, “Get away or I’ll kill you all!”

Gunfire erupted in a split second, with chaos overthrowing rationality on the battlefield. He didn’t know who shot who, he didn’t even know he had his finger on the trigger until he saw one of the men explode. His finger rested upon the trigger, as his arm flailed around from side to side, and he charged towards them with a roar. He watched as brains burst out of their cages, flying free into Heaven high above. The sand was painted with a dark shade of red, a coat of red from his enemies and of himself.

His knees weakened and his body failed him, yet he smiled as he fell into the red sand. Peace had regained his heart, a momentary silence of the maddening thoughts in his head before he would pass. It was over, it was finally over, and his smile was wide and genuine.

And the last thing he sees before he dies was the crumpled head of his little boy falling down.


Calm me,

#2: Water.

In a way, a continuation of an old poem I’ve written called Blue.

Calm me, water.
Bring me to peace,
Bring my thoughts to a still,
Give me the resonance of the waves,
Of a never-ending shore.

Calm me, water.
Give me the air in my lungs,
Fill them with water,
Not knowing what it is,
Delude me into life.

Calm me, water.
Give me peace,
From the endless war of life and death,
Give one its victory,
And tell me the score.

Calm me, water.
Give me an illusion,
Of a still life,
Let me dive deep
And help me find my soul.

Kill me, water.
Bring me to peace,
Bring my thoughts to a still,
Give me the resonance of the waves,
Of a never-ending shore.

You were right about me,

#1: You were right about me.

You were right about me,
I was not the ever-loving girl everyone says,
Not the kind but shy one in the corner,
Not the reliable one everyone goes to.

You were right about me,
I stabbed those who crossed me,
I brought the ones closest down to Hell,
I sent them away,
Only for them to come back burnt to a crisp,
(Perfect like pork).

You were right about me,
I could not help you
When the world was against you.
I shunned you
Not out of hatred
But out of pity.

You were right about me,
But you were looking through stained glass,
A cracked one,
Distorting your sight,
Turning the little girl into a monster.

You were right about me,
You were wrong about me.

Nightmarish Scheme

I feel my head exploding
of too much plodding.
In this nightmarish scheme
What’s it to do in this theme?

My head will roll
I’ve got a ball on the goal.
Now it’s got the time,
but it just can’t rhyme.

I feel missing.
“Like what?” She said, hissing.
Of roses and daisies,
Life’s full of maybes.

I got a white notebook in hand,
but a brain without a plan,
and with an empty little map
face-down on my lap,
What’s going to be the scheme?


I don’t understand the difference
between all of us.
What makes us different?

I don’t understand.
Is it a matter of color,
Of blue skin or green skin or silver skin,
Of purple skin or red skin or pink skin,
Or that of scales or leather or fur?
Or perhaps origin,
Of Martian or Oceanic or even from Moons.
Or is it, instead, an issue of gender,
Of three testicles or one or four vaginas.
It is a complicated thing,

To define humanity.

But perhaps, not too complex,
For we can still peel
the outer layer.

We can still reveal the crimson,
flowing to cover the beating organ,
which controls the solid whites.
The identical intricacies that define
Homo Sapiens.

It’s not complex at all.

In fact.

We are not different,
We are not dissimilar,
We are not opposites,
We are not special,
We are not distinct,

We are not unique.

We are not individuals.

A mass of meat.

In the end, we are all
A bag
Of blood
And bones
And flesh.