Through the hole in my door

It comes in smooth and slightly worn

From traveling through a meandering tightrope from hand to hand eye to eye

Glancing at the idea that it could be more than what its face tells us

Do not be one to judge, that because there are fingerprints or scratches or slight tears that it contains suffering

A labyrinth indeed, but who are we to assume that the people who helped mold this face into the thing it is are the ones who made the damage?

For maybe there is no damage at all

What is behind the face, what is within the soul, the layers of its life is the value we must credit with our happiness, our knowledge, our resort to a reserved isle of contented, powered, pursuing.

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Mental filing cabinet


I tip-toe through life,

anticipating failure of those around me.

Failure to commit.

Failure to achieve.

Failure to love.

Failure to prove me wrong.

Balancing on my emotions,

Questions which run rampant through my mind.

Should I stay?

Should I go?

Should I lie?

Should I tell him its all okay?

Judgemental people always watching

They hope that I will bow...

Bow to temptation

Bow to love

Bow to them

Bow to the status quo

Oh how I long to end this...

This irrelevant existence i maintain..

Is this real?

Is this love?

Is this my life?

Is this life worth living?

Ideas blooming across skylines

Painted visual images scatter themselves

Death is inevitable

Death is coming

Death is welcome

Death is something beautiful.

Should I care what other may say?

The defamation that will accompany my end?

Was she crazy?

Was she stupid?

Was she a spec on the glass of life?

Was she even someone I should feel sorry for?

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Erase - November 20, 2012

Chapter One

My recollections are making me change,

making me turn psychotic. This rage,

it's making me cave, opposite of brave,

I just want to start over and behave.

I've lost contact with reality,

and I'm bound to mental simplicity,

consisting of nightmares passed, true.


Before I fall, erase me, replace me,

with an unknowing, undamaged clone.

I don't want memories, I want to be free.

I want to peacefully, alone, go home.

I just want to calm down.

I need to calm down.

I don't want to be bound.

I am forever bound.

I am lost in how to solve this;

proof is in the scars, hard to miss.

I don't admit my problem out of fear;

I see only but shame in the mirror.

I refuse pills, and I refuse therapy,

for they will not once ever help me.


I need elimination;

obliteration if these thoughts.

I need to find a way, mind how they

slit my dreams, see them sit and rot.

I can't do it, go through with it.

My cowaring mind, endless demise,

won't let me end it all, but calls

to my inner self, my peaceful paradise

of images so right, so unlike

reality in its way to forgive me,

live in me; let me sit and be free.


Only one choice lies possible.

It denies in replies to take a toll

on my sanity. Don't you see? I can't stop.

I'm not as strong as you thought I wasn't.

The choice is to sit, so delicately sit,

and fit into my mask, slip it on.

It's so beautiful, it's so perfectly wrong.

The tears drop through, but I'm still in denial.

They can see naught but my pretty smile.

When the day is over and dusk turns to dawn,

my mask, still a smile. My soul forever gone.

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Happiness is not given, it is earned with struggle
Patience and power you cannot ask for it
Just another back fire, no rebound will help from anger
Hatred, fury and maybe fear

Kept strong in the soul, thicken the skin
Mind working hard as it can
Fulfillment with happiness, fulfillment with guilt
Depression is a doorway out and hatred suppressed in

Happiness is a gift, given from a lover, enemy or friend
Every wrong will make it right, every right can make it wrong
A section of your heart is healed, the other miserable
A section is pure evil, the other with no bad

Happiness does not exist in a person
In reality, fantasy and dreams
So fulfill yourself, and fight for happiness that exists
It'll only be earned when your ready
To feel happiness again

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The Steps to feeling Happiness. In my Theory.

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Title Of A Poem

Poetic Boosts

Whether to write a poem
Is when ideas consume the mind?
To want to write a poem
Depends on what kind of thoughts

Are thought, if painful
Are reminded, fortunately
Accidently forgotten

Could begin a story
No specific title
Not until the topic creates itself

Whether to write a poem
Is if the artist can handle the critic
To need to write a poem
Can relate to strength in order to vent

Critical towards one self
To create a work of art
Of creativity of the mind
Morally based on the thought
to be brought down as a reminder

An innocent warning for preperation
Caution to delerium
Wrtie what is bubbling inside the brain
And a title will be made

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The Steps of Creating a Poem.

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Written Thoughts On Paper

Poetic Boosts

Every second I ponder
And I battle with my conscious
Thoughts went into a blendar
And none of them had the tolerance
To be locked inside to grow anxious
Only to be written black on paper

Every second my memory can thunder
And randomly comes a head ache
Working a day with two kinds of pain
Oh what a day it would be
And I feel I need to express
How bad this pain can get

Every second on the hour
Thoughts flood like rain showers
Suffocating a puddle of words
Each time it thought of a verse
A rhyming stanza that worked
And no paper on the job
Especially signs that did not fit the artist's size
Of valuable paper

Author's Notes/Comments: 

What to write in Poetry. Thoughts are there, but where are the supplies needed?!

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A Bullet for a Kiss


A bullet For a Kiss”




Death rides shotgun down this highway of pain and suffering. This cold and hot fever is a punishment that I had brought down on myself. As I can feel the barrel of the gun as it's pressed against my temple. My reaper shouts for me to drive even faster and it is then that I see my wall. The hopeless reminder that we are all simply running in circles.



Ashes in the wind, as there is no control. The ultimate con, the ultimate illusion. There are no laws of physics within the minds of mankind. Driven by instinct, driven by passion we build our egos to mold our personalities. We are the hell beasts that devour the innocence. We are the creatures ruled by our hearts, our emotions. We can be majestic and divine, able to reason and to understand or we can be evil and sadistic, inflicting unspeakable acts of cruelty.



My thoughts have taken me through the ringer. Conflicted within myself which has caused me to relapse once again back into the arms of my sweet addiction. Always follow your heart right? If I had listened to my heart I would have ended up betraying my own personal promises and once again hearing the seductive whispers in my ear calling out my name. I would like nothing more then to close my eyes and fall back into her velvet bliss, the beautiful ecstasy of the mind numbing ignorance. I would sell my soul once again to be caught within that angel's glance. Even for the pain of realizing it could never last. Better to have been forgotten in a world where love fades far too soon. Then to have never been known by another soul.


Going insane with these repeating thoughts; A bullet or a kiss. The grand irony to an already cluster fuck of a life. How much more could I possibly have to endure before I have that breakdown? When all the bullshit just becomes way too much? Feeling like the fool as I still desperately try and cling to the hope that somehow, someway it will all work itself out. That maybe one day there will come a time when I get one issue solved and there would not be five more creeping up like a bad rash.



~ ~ Midnight Addendum ~ ~


If I could claim a true fear, and not just some phobia. The kind of fear that causes your legs to become frozen. Too scared to run they become lead pipes attached to the ground. Too scared to scream, finding your words evaporating as they gurgle from your mouth. The kind of fear that could give an old man a heart attack.


The line has become blurred, obstructed. Blending into a nightmare of hellish gray. A constant struggle to figure out what my moral compass should dictate. So my fear would be the vicious nature and the constant reminder of a bullet rattling around in my brain pan. Irony to be had as I once again declare that I have no death wish, I am not suicidal. That persistent thought however could contradict even your own belief.

I think about death, as much as an addict would about meth.”



Why must I endure this constant torment? Why must my mind take me down this road of insanity? Where my own death takes center stage, among all others in my head even surpassing that of vicodin. Most of all why the martyr syndrome to my own suicide plot when there would be no glory to be had?


As I stand before the mirror I see not my reflection. A stranger in the echo who picks up the revolver placing the cold barrel within my mouth. Solo Russian roulette only all chambers are loaded. I pull the hammer back and the last few thoughts that were to be had will die in my head as a sudden pop would be all that is heard. I see death, in the reflection.

I feel so tired anymore. Rarely finding the passion that is the mystery of life. I have always entertained the thought of just giving up. It's never been about my suicide. An act of a miracle should it ever happen. So why am I constantly plagued by them? Eating a bullet, or eating a pill. A devils true advocate to a man's broken heart.



I am falling apart, coming undone at the seams.

Caged in this lie built on the ashes of your dreams.

Slay the beast, or admit that you are weak.


Watch my decent into darkness.


Face to face with your devils and demons.

Falling from grace into disgrace

as you wage war against your temptations.


It's hard to see the moments

when your humanity shines through.

In that second I can see potential in you

Wolves. Sheep. Puppets on a string

shackled to fear; to the heavens we sing.

Where one positive thought counters a thousand negative ones

Wars resolved by the barrel of a gun

Then wonder why I see a bleak outcome.”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my newest piece from chapter 20 of ThoughtShock, "The Suicide Diaries"

I wont post a whole lot on this I will leave it up to you the readers to take what you will from this piece, I post it with a heavy heart to say the least. Battleing depression while writing this chapter really took its toll on me.

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Blender Of Careless Illusions

About Me

Do I care about your rebuttal?
Do I care for your opinion?
The way a person should fight back
Is being someone with energy you lack

Gods designed humanity
Gods should strike that thunder
Respecting the invisibly taught lesson
First time to hear this blender of issues
That I do not care for at this moment

Scrambled within our minds
Tossed into hypocritical labels

Do I care? Do I care?
Do I care? Do I care?
Do not label me

Only a mystery
Only an illusion

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Caring less of issues.

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Just another suicide letter


Just another suicide letter”


I woke today to see the forced smiles on the pale faces of all others,

So many have just gave up, gave in and no longer satisfied by their desires.

Stuck on repeat, stuck on a loop, they are simply following routine

a failure at everything, so they gave up on ever obtaining their dream.


If you happen to read this letter,

know that my life has not gotten any better.

I have danced with and even entertained

those thoughts that would make me seem deranged.

Let this letter be a glimpse into my soul,

part of the puzzle you just might not know.”


Dead babies displayed before the press, the piranhas on the move.

With open assassinations, might as well turn in my resignation for in the end we all lose.

Often I feel as though I should be asleep, this nightmare in its own right.

Somehow took the wrong cocktail. Lost my sight with no reason left to fight.

'Tomorrow will be a new day.” Yes that sounds like something I would say

and while I respect the laws of infinite possibilities, turns out its just another day.

How can I survive in a society more fucked than I?

Your stupidity, and your insanity compels me to want to die.


I have grown lost, now trapped behind this illusion you managed to conjure.

Each step taking me further from the path. Each step you taunt me with a cure.

The answer to a simple question, now foaming at the mouth its become an obsession.

Dancing with death, I can't help but count every single regret.

It all becomes a fading memory that I can now do without, just another dream that died

and before its creation ever transpired another broken promise where I had lied.


For the most part I do not even want this as an answer,

'still searching for what little beauty is to be had in this infectious cancer.'

Little by little, more and more I find myself drifting away.


This is just another suicide letter,

just know my life is not getting any better.

A coward who hides behind a vice.

A coward who is afraid to do what is right.”


The heavens rain down blood, as I ask myself what is it I've done.

What has become of me? Now just a shell of a man, hallow and numb.

What sick freakshow did I spawn from?

Where I find myself dwelling on the act, 'a bullet in the brain'?

Thoughts of suicide, yes they never left.

Asphyxiation by self perversion is it not the same?


Ashes to ashes, as we all find our way back

this twisted fate, strapped to the devil's rack.

You had your chance to turn back.

A door best left closed, it is a deadly trap.”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This would probably be my third "suicide letter" that I have written.

I like to choose these "styles" for their shock value, as well as offering me a way to convay a message in a strong and controversal way. So enjoy!


(Had moved this to its rightful place in the ThoughtShock Folder since its being added to this publication)

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