There is a melody
That plays inside
My heart

It thumps
Pumps
And beats
To the sound
Of her breath
Her walk
The crinkle
  Of her smile
The movement
  Of her eyes

The melody
Will continue to play
For as long as
There is an audience

Under this rough exterior
Is a sensitive, passionate
Mean spirited son of a bitch

However, I am working
On the latter of the flaws
With some help
From my shrink

She does think
Its great that I am
In touch with
My feminine side
But I am not sure
How to take that

Those “feminine” qualities
(her words, not mine)
Of acknowledging “feelings”
Can cause nothing but
Suffering and grief
Because too much of it
Tends to frighten people

I try to find the balance

But it might be easier
to suppress it all
be an asshole
or fire her

but then I would
just feel lousy
about myself

I just cant win

ups and downs

The downsides of

Getting old are

You start to get grays

Where you don’t want them

You become tired more easily

Can’t drink as much

Cant’ play hard anymore

the upsides are

People become clearer with their intentions

You don’t need as many people around

It doesn’t matter how you act

What you wear

What you have

And there is an end in sight

 To the bullshit

I just want another go around

To do more damage

Because when you are young

You don’t realize

Or listen

But growing old

Is inevitable

So I hope people

Will open up their ears

And shut their mouths more

waste of time and money

There are many

 Things in life

That can qualify

   As a waste

Of time

  And money

Regardless

 Of what those things

Might be

 When we choose to

Spend money
 and use our spare time

  We do expect

Some results

Whether

 It be temporary

  Happiness

Madness

 A break from boredom

But when a

  Young lass

Requests a donation

  To commit a certain

Act of debauchery

 Nothing defines

Waste more than

 A requirement

To wear a flunky
 when receiving

A bob on the knob

i am

a Rotten son of a bitch

It says so

Right here

It was my

 Birth given

name

It came with a

 Lack of compassion

Selfishness

&

 Greed

I knew of

 Nothing else

   Experienced

Nothing else

 Felt even less

The only time

 I’m more than this

   Is when I am

In my sleeping

 State of mind

A state where

I

Alone exist

thank you

is all the broad

say

 as we lay

next to one another

 after bodies sweating

the street light

 peeking through

the rip

 in the curtain

the whizzing

  of the ceiling fan blowing

cold welcomed air

no other sounds heard

 or words said

laid up

  staring in to the

back of my mind

   recycling thoughts

that led us here

just an easy escape

  with an uncomplicated

break

what happened

to that little girl

with little fingers

little toes

big smile

the little girl

who i rocked

back and forth

paced

back and forth with

because she could

not find comfort

on her own

the little girl

i held so tightly

and could not

let go

no matter how

painful

her screams were

the little girl

who i played

dolls with

pushed on the swings

chased after

in the park

the little girl

who needed me

depended on me

she is now

growing up

becoming

her own

as i continue

to devote myself

patiently waiting

for her to return

excuses

 

Getting drunk is easy

Recovering is the

Hardest part

Trying to remember

The embarrassment

You spilled is distant

Piecing things together

Trying to figure

Out who needs an apology

Turns out to be anyone

You had contact with

It’s all forgiven

Always blame alcohol

clarinet

how is it

that she can

be so polished

symmetrical from

where her most

inner thoughts

take place

to where she

lays imprints

that produce

a following

of worshippers

who would offer

up their devotion

if given the blessing

to be within

her breathing space

to take in

her angelic presence

and hang on every

word that she exhales

as these words

play a

melodic composition

that sends you

in to euphoria

if only

chance existed

Fuck You

No, fuck you!

Oh the pleasantries

Of human interaction

Here is to hoping that things

will never change

waiting for sleep

 

When you have

Nothing but dreams

To depend on

And the thought of

Waking up

Gives you the sweats

It’s time

no more

 

i think i’m

the only one

as i take a journey into

those big brown eyes

with the extravagant lashes

clearing out the

ugly debris of the world

i

see my

reflection

glimpsing back at me

i appear euphoric

i’m in a warm place

surrounded by

adoration & loyalty

my head resting

against her breast

existing

with every heartbeat

but it all came to an end

as the lashes

made way for

 someone else

dirty whores!

 

nothing but

dirty little whores

on every street corner

in every city

around the world

selling themselves

to anyone who

will take them

to hand over a portion

of their morality

with a monetary donation

on the side

they will sweet talk you

whisper in your ear

what they think

you want to hear

they will do just

about anything

to materialize

they will bend you over

 swallow you whole

I could never be

a politician

it's a shit storm out there

Everywhere I go

Everywhere I turn

Every social media site

Giving attention to

   groups

grumbling about issues

who don’t have answers

To make the changes

Institutional racism

Free tuition

Higher minimum wages for

  On campus jobs

A coffee monster not

   Acknowledging the holiday spirit

Fuck him  Fuck her

Politics are now a dramedy

There is war

 Terrorism

Hunger and poverty

Most likely related to the

     The world disorder

I could be the problem

I am the problem

For not having the passion

   Or strong views

Others hold

For I’m just trying to

Keep myself sane

Raise my children

The best I know how

And make

  Sure I keep checking the expiration

Dates on my dairy

 Before I expire

life is what you imagine

I imagine myself

With no cares in the world

Money, women, whiskey and wine

At my disposal

Soaking up life until

It runs dry

Until I die of natural causes or

Die a result of my lifestyle

I imagine myself

A great writer

Adored and hated by all

I imagine these things as

I lay in bed at night

Staring at the ceiling

While my dog plays

Hide and seek with

The blankets until he

Finds the right spot

I imagine these things

Until my eyes grow bored

then the alarm sounds off

and it’s time for me to let my

dog out so he can imagine

he is free

marriage

we took an oath

 to become one 

and with that oath we

we were exiled 

as we now

patiently await death

until death do us part

unless of course we intend

on spending the after life together

which might be a little overkill

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it's suicide man

All that coffee
Carbohydrates
That pipe

It's suicide
It's gonna kill you

All those women you slept with
That alcohol
That motorcycle riding you do
All the ink injected in your skin

It's suicide
It will catch up to you

Your mouth
The way you stare at people
Your anger and stress

It's all suicide

Your lack of religion
Distrust in people

It will kill you
It's suicide

Living life is suicide

christ has risen

as i surround myself

on this Sunday morning

in the holy fortress

there are strong whispers

of forgiveness coming from every direction

all who are assembled are

looking to reserve a space

in Utopia and/or hoping

to get absolved for

a week of wrong doing

i don’t feel the need to

partake in absolution

or reserve a seat for myself

because as i see it

if God is so forgiven and

Jesus already died for my sins

i should be all set

instead i have 1.5 hours

of unoccupied time in

my mind

i start by counting the number

of bricks that make up each wall

this ends when i find it difficult

to continue after 100

i stare at the murals and stained glass

think about who had the

artistic ability to create such

beautiful creations

my eyes wander from

face to face around the assembly

trying to figure out their backgrounds

and what they are in for

the woman behind me catches my attention

she is wearing a black printed dress

that accentuates her figure

her back end is pressed against

the rear of the pew of where i’m sitting

i imagine that the pew is an

extension of myself

pressed up against her firm body

commandments 7 & 10 echoing

in my head

i’m awoken from my holy trance

with the pastor saying,

“hallelujah, Christ has risen”

and i respond,

“Christ sure has risen!”

dust in the wind

The rain was coming down heavily as he stare out the window from the living room. The view is not much. Directly across the street is the newly renovated parking lot turned EMT Station. He looked at this so called “city”, a “city” that is trailing behind on every day trends but excelling on poverty. He wishes he was somewhere else, somewhere other than here.

His kitten keeps him company. The loud purrs indicate to him that the kitten has found happiness between these walls, where he has not. The phone rang. He took a moment to answer it. He couldn’t imagine who was calling. An image of this female raced through his mind as he hoped it was her. “Hello”, he said. A male voice responds, “Is Lazarus Higgins home? This is Paul with ATT”. Another bill collector wanting to devour whatever soul he has left. He hangs up and returns to the position by the window. The rain slows down, as the darkness envelopes around him.

He was feeling a little bit more depressed than usual this evening. The thought of attending that party tonight disgusted him. The thought of sitting with a group of individuals, celebrating the commitment of love made him sick to his stomach. He felt obligated to go because he already sent back the RSVP so there was no backing out now.

He was staring at a picture of his ex-girlfriend and himself taken at the amusement park. He remembered the love he felt and how “perfect” the relationship was. Well, it seemed perfect after overcoming a few obstacles. She was able to forgive him after finding him in bed with another woman. It was a simple mistake. She didn’t speak to him for a few days so he figured it was over. She then happened to show up in the middle of the night to find him with his head between another woman’s legs. He quickly remembered that she had not called because she was away for the weekend. She decided to come home early from her weekend getaway. Her forgiveness showed commitment to him and this is when he realized it was love. To strangers this picture was nothing, but to him, it told a fairy tale.

He tried to justify why the picture was still on the dresser, since they broke up months ago, but couldn’t.  The last straw for her was to find him once again with another woman. She used up all her forgiveness already. All he could think about is how much he still adored her. He took the picture from the frame and tucked it into his pocket.

The time was drawing nearer when he needed to meet up with his friends and attend this wedding shower. He did not know how he was going to pull this off, pretending to be happy for the couple. His thoughts then drifted to the time of his grandfather’s funeral where everyone was crying and going on about “how great of a guy” his grandfather was. This was a guy who said not a word to him and found joy in hopping around on one leg, tormenting him with his fake one and pulling on his ear. He would not say he was a “great guy”. However, he did figure that he had to join in and show some sort of emotion to be respectful. Luckily, his source of sadness came from this irritating perfume that made his eyes water. Such good timing. He was thinking of asking what the scent was just in case he had to attend another sad event. He didn’t care about the death and was only there to see if there were any single women there. The only luck he had was shedding a tear.

He was hesitant on attending this hand clapping, congratulations on your happiness, and wish you well party, because there was a girl he would have rather been with. This was his ex girlfriend, who he spoke with two weeks ago. She called to ask for some of her belongings back. He was certain that she wanted to rekindle what they had; and since then the obsession developed.

Her name was Rebecca. A beautiful Greek Woman. He happened to meet her when she was dating someone else. She was with that person for two years before he came along. He swept her off her feet. He did adore her, despite some of her annoying traits. He did not like the way she chewed her food or when she opened her mouth, but the sex was fantastic. She might not say that about him, but who cares. The sex certainly off set her annoying traits and he was able to tolerate and maintain a relationship with her. Who else would have put up with him.

His friends, Katie and Anthony, arrived with smiles. They were the ones who were always overjoyed for others and never showed any signs of anger. He found this odd. He distanced himself from any conversation with his friends, as his focus was on Rebecca. He has a talent for living in reality and fantasy simultaneously. This helps him get by. It was his turn to drive (reluctantly because of the gas prices) since they drove an hour to meet him. 

It was about a half hour ride to the VFW where the function was taken place. This gave him time to conjure up more obsessive thoughts and over indulge in his depression. But the time soon came when the Veteran building was in sight and the car had to stop.

 ACT 1 Lights camera action.

Introducing the star of the show, Lazarus Higgins. He is always the lead role in his mind and the extra in the real world.

He looked out the window as the anxiety set in. He had a history of having anxiety and panic attacks to the point where he felt the urge to cut out his own eyes while staring at himself in the mirror. He could not stand the reflection of himself. It was time for the signing of the card and giving up $20. He was known to be frugal or cheap. He did not like to spend money and always tried to finagle his way out of ever spending money. As he slowly reached in his pocket to grab the $20 he could only think of other ways to spend it; like on a blow job. This would help with the anxiety.

He was given the card and his mind was blank. What the hell would he write. His mind wandered about the last card he received from his ex. She told him how much she cared for him and missed him. This was obviously before the break up. She had gone to the Cape for a month to spend time with her family. She also noted how guilty she felt about going out while she was down there. She got the impression that he was upset when she went out. This was bullshit because he never made her feel guilty about anything. He knew she was crazy but so was he. He did use to hate it when she would obsess over her abs not being firm enough during sex. This was a mood breaker, but when she was in it, she was in it and she gave great head too.

He has the card in hand and needs to hand over the $20. “I wouldn’t put twenty in that card unless it was to fuck her”, not realizing he said this aloud. His friends looked at him and just ignored the comment. He has a tendency to make crazy and random comments so it was not uncommon. He hesitantly placed the $20 in the card and signed, “best of luck,  Laz”. It was so difficult to hand that over. It was a new, fresh, crisp bill just taken from the machine. It had that smell that all new bills have. The envelope was sealed and they all exited the car.

Here he goes, anxiety rising as he makes his strides towards the door. He knows the place is going to be full of happiness. Something he was not in the mood for. In fact, something he is typically never in the mood for. He silently enters the function. The place is consumed with people smile and laughing. The tops of the tables were hidden by gifts and food. The DJ was playing a slow song as couples swarmed on the dance floor to take this opportunity to dance close and feel the breath of one another. He just stood there, with a cynical looking smile on his face as the song played on and the groping continued.

It was time to greet the couple for whom this joyous occasion revolved around. The bride, not bad looking, was six months pregnant with twins. She was ready to explode. He had a fleeting thought of what it would be like to fuck her. He made this comment to Anthony, who once again, just ignored one of his insane comments.

The groom to be, was just your “average Joe”. Nothing spectacular about him. He figured that this “Joe” was just an ass to his lady. He would like to think that everyone was just as miserable as him.  But, he knew they were happy, not because he knew them, but because he could see it.

His eyes quickly became busy scanning the room for woman. There were plenty of attractive woman to choose from. He exchanged glances with some of them but their eyes shifted quickly away from him. His friends were exchanging their “congratulations”. He figured he needed to play along. “Congratulations”, he said in a monotone voice. “You’re a lucky guy”, he says, as he turns and smirks at the “bride to be”.

As he looked through the “bride to be” he noticed a familiar face. A face he has not seen since college. She was a beautiful girl. She had long, curly, brown hair, dark eyes, a slender figure that would never age. He was envisioning her, standing his room with nothing but black panties and one of his oxford shirts, with the top 4 buttons open. The fan is blowing the shirt, giving him just a peek of her breasts. He felt the erection in his pants. He needed to speak to her, see if she remembered him. He figured that speaking to her will keep his mind off Rebecca. He politely excused himself and went to grab a beer. He ordered a Samuel Adams, a beer that says, “I got taste”.

She may have good looks but she was such a “bitch.” Her name was Tara. Good Ole Tara. They had some good times together; taking long rides, sharing an interest in taking photos. She ended her relationship with him too. She thought he was becoming too “needy” just because he enjoyed being around her and talking to her. She couldn’t be bothered with his niceties after a while. Got bored of him.

He made his way towards her in a way that she could not escape his salutations. He just had to say hello. See what she has been up to. He executed his move and she hesitantly responded. There was a conversation about time that has passed. What they have each  been up to. He told her how he recently completed the Police Academy and was waiting on a position within the city. He thought this would be impressive to her. He noticed a slight movement and twitch in the lips and eyes, that to him, showed that she had no interest or questioned his career move. Sure he has made some mistakes in the past. Haven’t we all?

Tara was a teacher in a nearby town. She always had love for the kids. She didn’t speak much about what she was doing, only that this is what she was doing now. The conversation went numb like he was just hit with a shot of Novocain. He mentioned coffee and she politely told him that she would be in touch. Interestingly enough she did not have his information to get in touch with him. He called her a “bitch” under his breath as she swayed away. He stared intensely at her ass as she walked away. “That’s right. She is a bitch because your not interesting.” He said to himself.

He walked to the buffet table to grab some food when the romantic interlude was over. He filled up his plate with as much food as he thought was worth the $20 he out in the card. He was going to get his fill. He paid for it. He earned it for coming to this god forsaken event.

He returned to the table where his friends were. It was an odd mix of people sitting at the table. False conversation was going around the table. His mind was off in another place. He was thinking of Tara and the bride to be making a sandwich of him. Tara was walking towards him and he could have sworn she was flirting with him. Just as soon as she was waling his way, she turned and began to speak to other people.

A smell of Polo cologne rushed through the air. Memories of Rebecca stirred up again. No matter what, she will always be around. He thought of how she looked, stepping out from the shower, towel wrapped around her just right, with such an intoxicating smell. She would always smile at him, inviting him to take her. This fleeting thought left his mind and was again reminded of how shitty this party was. He excused himself from the table to take a leak. He wasn’t a rude person. He walked through the crowd, getting bits of conversation from each one he passed, They were laughing and having such a joyous time. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

The night grew longer and longer. There he was, without a positive thought and a good beer. He went outside to get some fresh air. Grab a cigarette. He didn’t smoke on a regular basis but it was a habit in it’s own form. A way to relieve himself.  He would always have a pack just for times like these.

There was nobody outside, nothing, except for the darkness. The darkness kept him sane. Made him feel calm. It was his place. A place where he could be free. Often times though this place did not offer such freedom but would stir up memories. He thought about the time when he was younger, seven or so. His mother was admitted in to the hospital for back surgery. She was in the hospital for 4 months due to complications. During this time, he and his sister were sent with different people to take care of them. He thought about the old couple, well old to him, being so young. They would often send him to bed without supper and the old man would reprimand him by putting his hands down his pants. The fucking pervert. His old lady knew what he was up to but she didn’t say a word.

This went on for months until he and his sister were moved to live with some woman he never met. Supposedly she was a friend of his mothers. She lived in the projects. He can still smell urine soaked hallways and carpeting in her apartment. He added to the smell of the of the place because he had a slight bed wetting problem. I’m not sure it would be called “bed wetting” because he slept on the floor in the kitchen. He probably slept there because his piss was easier to clean up. He would wake up ever morning at 6:00 AM to the sound of “dust in the wind” by Kansas. Every damn morning this song came on at the same time. It became torturous after a while. The lady would encourage him to get up, eat his dry cereal and send him off to school in his soiled underpants.

Eventually he returned home and none of this was mentioned. He was now just a young boy dealing with divorce and his mother’s abusive relationships, and to this day that song lay heavy on him as a constant reminder of hell.

He stood there puffing away. The wind blowing smoke back in his face. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out the picture of Rebecca. His happiness.  If, in fact, “obsession” could be considered happiness, than that is what it was. He inhaled his last puff. Dropped the butt to the ground. Dropped the picture to the ground and let out a deep sigh.

Act 11

Hospital curtains are drawn back.

Muffled sounds. Beeping, beeping, clanking, clicking along with people yelling and screaming. Bright lights shining down on my face. Feeling cold, but I know I’m not dead. I’m immobilized. . I try to move my arms. They won’t move. I can feel myself pulling, wiggling my fingers but nothing is happening. Same thing with my legs. I can wiggle the toes but can’t seem to shift around. I struggle to lift my eye lids. I glance around the room and notice where the noises are coming from. I realize that I’m in a hospital. I can see nurses and doctors shuffling about. I see shadows of other people outside the room. I hear people yelling, “calm down! Step back!”  A nurse comes into the room. She doesn’t say much, other than to ask if I’m in any pain. She has a look of disgust on her face. I’m not sure what to make of it but I’m not feeling scared. I tell her I’m fine. I ask her for water. She grabs a cup from the side table and puts it up to mouth. I ask her why I can’t move. She moves back the sheet and points to the strap that’s gripping my wrist to the side bar. I know now that this is the reason why I can’t move my legs. They are strapped down as well. I don’t bother asking any more questions. I close my eyes and drift off to the screaming that goes beyond the room.

Act 111

“order, order in this court room”

“Mr. Higgins do you understand what is happening here in this court today?”

I shrugged my shoulders and responded with, “I do.” I had nothing else to say. Nothing to offer anyone standing around. People were shouting out, wanting answers to things I had no answers for. I tuned it all out as was shuffled back.

One year later, here I sit in my new home, a 6 x 8 room. My new view is of the courtyard. Bars across the windows. Some light shines through. Sometimes I imagine I can feel the warmth but I know it’s not real. I have new roommates; different than the ones I used to have. Some of them seem a little bit rougher around the edges. I tend to keep my distance and mind my own business. It’s been better that way. I get hassled here and there, more so from my babysitters. They don’t seem to like me all that much. I figure that eventually they will get used to me and become bored of hitting me. Although I enjoy a good beating now and then as it makes me feel alive.

I spend most days just reading or staring at my walls that I plastered with different articles with headlines that read, “Jack and Jill: A Bloody Ceremony.” I’m still not sure what to make of all of it. I can’t explain it. I only know what I heard throughout the trial, seen on the news and read in papers. I don’t try to convince anyone that I’m innocent. How can I? Not only were there witness to the events, but everything in the media is always accurate.

It has been communicated, through testimonies, and reported that a “young man,” me, went into a rage and killed 5. The victims included; the bride to be, her groom, her two unborn twins and Tara Goodwin. Tara actually got shot accidentally as I tried to kill myself. So it was reported. Apparently I got my weapon from the trunk of the car. This would make sense because I did keep weapons there. I did have a license to carry. I mean, I did go through the academy. As it was described, I entered the hallway, did not say a word and just shot the couple, point blank in the head. Dropping them where they stood. I pointed the gun at myself and fired. The shot grazed the side of my head and hit Tara. She was not in a good position.

The articles go on and on, about the horror on that night. I’m not sure why I keep them. Maybe so that someday I will remember and start to feel some emotion around what happened. I don’t know why that would matter since I will die here.

I’m not lonely. Sometimes I miss it. Being out there. Missing my chances with Rebecca. She’ll come around soon. I continue to write her even though I haven’t heard back. I’m sure she is busy doing her own thing, getting settled. She must get the letters because they don’t get returned to me. She’ll get around to it.

I haven’t accomplished much within this year. But the one thing that I did accomplish was I learned how to play “Dust in the Wind” on Guitar. When it comes down to it we really are just all dust it the wind.