Friday, June 1, 2012

Not again

It wasn't the first time.
I've been here before.
I looked at my hands,
nine years experience on earth.
There is blood everywhere.
Their screams scared me at first,
they're quiet now.
Good night mommy,
good night daddy.

This in in reply to the Trifecta prompt which can be found here.

The prompt was to use 33 words excluding: 'It wasn't the first time'.

Monday, May 28, 2012


You're such a heartwarming delight.
Never the cause of a fight,
though never afraid, never delayed.
My memories of you will never decay.

I'll fight to the end for you.
Never likely to have you.
With your eyes I've been infected,
with your eyes I've been dissected.
Fuck this life, I'll never have you.
Life isn't worth it, not as number two.

However hard I try,
I know I'll never be enough.
I promise never to lie,
I'm sorry I'm not enough.

I guess I'll never win your affection,
I wonder if this knife will get your attention.
Don't worry, I wont survive,
don't cry, don't be surprised.
I am the walking dead,
without you I was never alive.

P.S., to all the soccer mom bloggers out there, sorry for the fucking use of the word "fuck", I didn't know what the fuck was going through my fucking head at the time. Good day.

This in in reply to the Trifecta prompt, which can be found here.

The prompt was to use the third definition of the word Decay:
DECAY (intransitive verb)

1: to decline from a sound or prosperous condition
2: to decrease usually gradually in size, quantity, activity, or force
3: to fall into ruin

Tuesday, May 22, 2012


     The boy pointed at him. “You...” he muttered slowly. “ me?” he said. Cil smiled.
“You speak my language?” Cil asked.
The boy nodded. “Little...I understand...w-w-well though.”
“You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not the bad guy.”
“I die here?” he asked.
“No,” he replied. “I'm gonna get you out of here. I don't know how, but I'm gonna do it.”
“I...Thur. Who you are?” The boy asked.
“My name is Cil. Cil Redman.” he answered.
“, Cil R-R-Redman for not...leaving me...back there to die.” he said.

Cil looked him in his reptilian eye. He didn't see the disgusting creature the others see. He didn't see the enemy. He didn't see hatred. He saw innocence. He saw a confused boy trapped between the walls of war. “I'll get you out of this, Thur.” he said. “Can I see what they did to your leg?” Thur raised his left pant leg exposing a prosthetic leg.
“I'm sorry for my people, and what they did.” he said.

Thur looked down in shame. “Your fault no. Rage force me...join war.”
     “What do you mean?” Cil asked.
“My f-f-father die in war. I join for revenge.”
     “I guess I share your compassion for death. I too fought for revenge. My wife and boy died during a village raid by the zelkins. I understand your anger, but you can't let it get to you.” he said.

"Cil, what's IHT?" Thur asked.
Cil wiped sweat off his forehead. "That's Interior heat torture. That's when they strap you to a table and shoot a laser in your stomach. The laser slowly heats your insides to a boiling one-thousand degrees over a period of one week." he explained.
"Wouldn't I die"
"No, they'll have an I.V. pumping water and vitamins into your body." he replied.

This is apart of my continuing series: Rogue Valor. You can read the rest of it here.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Only Way Out

Form my hand to a fist,
it oozes through my fingers.
In my mind we coexist.
My blood, it still lingers.

My skin turning white,
I know I've found trouble.
My decision was right.
My head hits the rubble.

So close but yet so far,
the outcome of her rejection
gave me one more scar
to add to my collection.

Vision getting obscure,
my breathing delaying.
This is the only cure
so don't bother praying.

This is for the weekly Trifecta prompt. The rules were to use the third definition of the word "Trouble".

: the quality or state of being troubled especially mentally
: public unrest or disturbance <there's trouble brewing downtown>

Saturday, May 12, 2012

The Start Of the End

He sat on the exam table, shaking.
His mother to his left,
his father to his right.
The doctor walked in the room,
nervously reading off his clipboard.
"You only have eight months."

The is my entry for the mothers day prompt from Trifecta.
The prompt was to write a 33 entry word entry with the word 'mother' in it.

Holding Cell

     The hours felt so long. False accusations felt so methodical that if someone asked him for a snack he'd snap back with 'God dammit! I'm not the enemy!'. He was in a small room with only a hard uncomfortable metal chair and a military guard standing in front of him. “Now tell me, Redman. If you're not with those slimy zelkins then what were you doing calling for help by that boy's side?” the officer asked.

     The kid. The kid was all that Cil could think about. He thought about how he watched his son die long ago. He couldn't bare the thought of a child only the size of four feet dying in a horrendous battlefield. Even if it was a zelkin. “He was just a boy, I couldn't let him die out there.” Cil replied.

     “Well...” the guard said with a smirk on his face. “I regret to inform you that the zelkin scum is going to be executed in one week by IHT.” he said.
“What? You can't do that!” Cil rose to his feet quickly.
     “Sit back down, Redman...before I make you sit.”
“I'd like to see you--” Cil was interrupted by a punch to the chest. The guard let out a slight chuckle. Cil dropped his shoulder into a heavy punch directed toward the guard’s stomach. The guard turned to his side and used the momentum to hold Cil against the wall.
     “That's it, Redman. You're going to be executed just like your little friend.” said the guard.

     Cil dressed in thin black pants and shirt with matching boots just like the other prisoners. He was guided by two guards through concrete walls and many cells. They stopped at the last cell on the right. One of the guards unlocked the cell door while the other one nudged Cil in the small cramped room. The room was small and gray. To his left was a set of bunk beds and in the far right corner was a small toilet. He heard a short grunt coming from the top bunk. “Hello.” said Cil. He couldn't believe what rolled over from the top bunk. The little four foot zelkin boy.

This is a part in my continuing story Rogue Valor. The rest of the story can be found here.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

The Concious

His means are despicable and selfless.
He creeps through the dark of my soul.
I am weak against his artfulness,
call riot control.

His ways are nothing benevolent,
these scars on my wrist be the stigma.
Built upon a foundation of malevolent.
He is the enigma.

Evil and destructive,
who may he be?
His plans constructive,
he is me.

This is a poem for a writing prompt from, rules were to write a piece between 33 and 333 words using the third definition of the word 'Enigma'.

enig·ma noun \i-ˈnig-mə, e-\

1: an obscure speech or writing
2: something hard to understand or explain
3: an inscrutable or mysterious person