Here I am, back again.

Still lying in those same positions I laid in last week.
Still stroking her hair.
Still trying to move along.

I'm convinced she's never coming back.

Not the same girl, but now it's all the same.

They're still surprised when I stay until the next morning and hold onto them.

"Why haven't you left?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up."

Sometimes they get scared. They wanted the night before to be time of their life and wake up to it being a dream. According to them, their innocence is saved from sleeping with guy they've known for an hour.

Sometimes they smile and hold me tighter. For the exact opposite reason.

They wanted it to be real.

Did it matter we were naked under covers like we've done it a million times before?
Probably not.

At least, not to me.

"If you want, you can stay like this a while."

It's that sentence that makes me happy inside.

There are the wild ones though. The ones that want it again in the morning.
Yeah, I'm a guy. I'll go again.

There's something about seeing strips of sunlight all over her body that makes me want to grasp her and never let go.

Her hair bounces up and down in rhythm to her sighs and gasps.

"Stop."

She stops bouncing on my cock.

"What? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? I hurt you didn't I?"

or

"Alright," then she goes down on me.

No no no.

"Just, sit there."

So she sits on me.

So we sit on her bed.

We sit there for an hour kissing and holding each other.

This is bliss.

If only they'd agree.

Scrolling Through Titles

Man Shot Down Twice Today, Women Claim It's Him

What is a guy to do?
I'm here, I'm there.

I'm the one that people smirk at as I walk into the room. (13)
I'm the one that people glance at on the subway. (10)
I'm the one that doesn't know what's going on. (9)
I'm the one that stays up late finishing up articles. (10)
I'm the one that edits a sentence because the number of words are bothering me. (15)

I'm the one that finds a hidden poetry in an ordinary sentence.

Take the above five sentences, for example. A sort of symmetry that's good enough for me.

That's the kind of turn off I offer.

I'd make an excellent husband.

Chocolate World Causes Disaster for Others

Nothing lasts forever, but I'll try and make it last.
I don't believe in relationships that don't look like they could go anywhere.
That could be another problem for me.

I'm too busy looking for "the one".
Too busy looking for that perfect quality of paper to write on.
Too busy watching romantic comedies while talking on the phone with my friends while reading my company's newspaper.

Too busy correcting others mistakes.

Your hair is tilted.
Your attitude is messing with my atmosphere. [Doesn't sound right]
You don't treat me right.
Your article has a grammar problem.

Too busy checking for spelling mistakes to see anything else.

Too busy eating ice cream staring at the window to let the world pass me by.

Girl's Apology Letter Fails to Send, Man Blames Post Office for Breakup

"I'll send a letter to that girl asking her to be my own."
"Come ease the pain that's in my heart."
"Will I understand if she wants to be my friend?"

Though it doesn't matter.

"It's something unpredictable, though in the end it's right."
"I hope you had the time of your life."

Shit happens.

I can't say it wasn't meant to be because there's no such thing as fate.

Fate would mean you assume all the roads are already paved for you with other people's tax money and inspiration, you just have to walk on it.

Though some people drive on it.

In Lamborghinis.

Critic Gives Movie Two Thumbs Up! One's Depressed Look on Life entertains others!

In the end, you're the one that I want.

Though your path is made of dirt and mine of stone.

I seem to be stuck on mine.
Yours has no boundaries.

Only of You

Take me somewhere that I've always wanted to go.
Take me to a place that people don't worry about rocks in the relationship.
Take me underneath this crazy world of ours.

I'm sitting in Paris, I'm sitting in Rome, I'm sitting in a wedding in Beijing.
I'm laying in a hotel on the outskirts of town, I'm sleeping on beds I never knew existed, I'm dying on roofs of buildings that no one cares about.

In Paris, I'm sitting across from an empty white chair.
Tea for one?
The birds are chirping without care for the world. The stereotypical accordion music is playing from the inside of the restaurant. There's something about eating a small meal and having drinks on the stoned pathway outside. Not the convenience so much as the casualness. There are no coasters, no overlapping conversations, no passing waiters trying to get by the tightly arranged tables.

I'm so alone in this part of this world, yet part of something bigger. I don't know the language, but I know the people.
They're talking with each other in French or whatever language they happen to know.
Children are learning to count and the basics of getting by. Their biggest concern is trying to climb the steps.

I want to put my head down but I can't.

My watch is still off from timezones. I don't change it, I just account for the missed hours.

This is the best time for thinking. Being submerged in a strange new world makes the mind wander. Being far away makes the mind miss the comfort of home and love the new adventure.

I might stay here a while.

I need to see someone that hasn't cropped up in a while.
I need to find the picture of a long lost friend and see if his number still works.
I need to run into an old girlfriend and see how they've been doing.

Where did they go?
How did they get there?
What are they doing now?
What's the current 411?
So what happened to the 90s?
Did you change your number? Is it still the same like we promised each other?

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the package that came earlier for me.
It was a small box with a letter attached.

I didn't look at the address because mail fascinates me. Despite the current technology available, nothing beats the excitement of seeing the red flag of the mail box standing up. Getting a package was a sure orgasm.

Now I had in my hand a letter and a box.

Return address: Smudged to the point where a kindergarten teacher couldn't make out the details.
Stamp: Multiple images of hearts, flowers, and a copyright notice in very small print.
Before even reading anything else I knew who the letter was from. I didn't expect a letter to make it here. Only my boss and I knew I was here. Why did the a's have to look like fallen balloons and the g's like crop circles? I thought she would have lost interest in me by now.

I didn't expect her to forget, but I didn't expect it this soon.

I uncrossed my legs and let the needle feeling make it up my foot.

All the letter said was, "I got bored (:".

I opened the box and it was stuffed with newspaper. The funnies from the week before.

Even the public couldn't ignore my delight.

A hour of her life twisted into bits of string made up the bracelet buried among the packaging.

Too bad I didn't need it.

I raised my arm and my sleeve fell down to reveal the worn out purple, green, pink, and gray-that-was-once-white from a decade ago.

I left a ten dollar tip and walked down three blocks.

I need a marijuana leaf, an eyeball, and I think I'll buy a beret.

Basement of my Cluttered Mind

And so he laid down on top of her.
The soft cushions pushed up on her, opening her.
He didn't hesitate.
She didn't hestate.

He wanted it.
She wanted it.

She wanted it now.
Harder.
Harder.
Stop.
Slow.
Build up.
Harder.
Harder.

End.

After all my fantasies, I'm still sitting in front of my laptop.
I'm still trying to finish the tamer projects I work on.

Next up: 3 Cocks, 3 Badasses, No Mercy.

What next?

I can always work with someone else material.
Free porn, free titles, free subtitles, free food.

Set for life?

After awhile, sex loses its meaning.

You no longer get aroused by watching a hot brunette get fucked so hard she's half moaning, half screaming.

I no longer have a type. Any type I did have was washed away by the pools of semen I left the guys on the set to clean up.

Free porn, free titles, free subtitles, free show.

Next up: Fox with Sox, All the things you can do.

I wish I could just have sex.

Now nothing's exciting.

Oh, she's naked and on my bed.

I should probably be aroused, since it's now my turn to fuck a girl.

Not really.

I consider myself a porn star, though no one would think so.

I can control my orgasms, I'm comfortable around other naked guys, I've seen enough naked people to last a life time, and I have a deep moan/painful groan.

How do I know that?

I practice when I'm alone.

Next up, Big Snakes on a Plane.

So where do I go from here?
Do I continue with this lifestyle?
Do I go on to something else?

I don't care either way as long as my girlfriend isn't my left and right.

Sharing Spaces

According to Dutch psychologists, 1 in 25 people hear voices.

I wish I could see them.

There's nothing more annoying than hearing your name called from behind you or the direction of the doorway only for nothing to be there.

At first, I was alright.
They were my friends.

Later, they began telling me things that weren't true.

She's cheating on you, Michael.
She's disrespecting you, Michael.
Come out from under the covers, Michael.

They were trying to get me pumped up.

I wanted to end it all. I couldn't take all this influence and pressure from nonexistent things. No teen aged boy should have to deal with peer pressure, let alone pressure from voices.

As a little boy, I was more curious about my invisible friends.
Where did they come from?
Why were they talking to me and no one else?
Who were these guys?

Now I just want them gone.

But you love us, Michael.

I don't want them back ever again.

You don't mean that, Michael.

They made me do things that no person could ever convince me to do.
I robbed a store.
I stole candy from a baby and then taunted it for the hell of it.
I cheated on tests I knew the answers to.
I slept on the cold floor because they wanted me to.
Because they wanted me to.

You wanted to, Michael. We just helped.

They used to comfort me.
Their soft, melodramatic voices were like white noise to me.
They could say one word and make me feel new again.

Michael...

They could induce self-esteem in me.
They could drown me in courage.

Now, all they did was take it away.

The Voices are with me every step of the way.
They taught me about life and death.
How to be the best I can be.
Why I should live.
They taught me my reason to be here.

Now I'm on my final words.
They are not my friends anymore.
It's to the point where I'm invisible to them.

That's not true, Michael.

In an argument, I take the strong points.
I lead the conversation.

No more dead dogs.

I'm in control.

Now, I'm lying here.

And there's nothing you can do about it.

You can't teach me not to die.

After one last glance at the ceiling fan, I gasped before laying down forever. I'm leaving, and I'm taking you guys with me.

Fuck you, Michael.

November Snow Globe

My head is heavy from getting ready.
My throat burns from swallowing my coffee ten sips at a time.

I'm waiting for you.

The minutes tick by.
My leg quivers.

I'm still waiting.

I wonder if you'll ever show up at all. No, you'll be here.

I pass on the menu five times. Six if you count the mistaken waiter.

A pride of employees stand in the empty kitchen doorway. I occasionally catch glances of them.
Stop looking at me.

I check my watch again.

The empty seat across the way stares at me.
Its over inflated red marble plastic covering mocks their cheap choices.

The lights on the salad bar go out.

Maybe you got sick.
Maybe you woke up really late.

Maybe your body is messed up thanks to daylight savings time.
Maybe thanks to global warming a fire hydrant exploded and got you an accident.

Maybe you just didn't want to talk.

Did I sound too nervous on the phone?
Did I sound too quirky on the street?
Did I look too messy in the office?
Did I look too standard for fun?

The waiters start dealing out bills to everyone.

It's far too late.
It's closing time.

I order a last round of beer just to pump me up for the road.

I make a mental checklist.

Tissues?
Ice Cream?
Chick flick?

Yeah, I was set for tonight.

I guess I'll have to use those things for myself.

I get everything set to go.
I get up from the booth.

More and more bills get handed out in the corner.

I'm on the way out.

I bumped into the waiters, making them drop their load.
They scramble for loose ends.

The door opens and I knock shoulders with a small girl.

We apologized and continued.

I stopped and turned around.

It's you.

I smile.

FUCK MY LIFE

a true friend isn't selfish and does keep him home away from other friends
you can't force me to spend time with you.
i see you all the time.
i've grown up deal with it.
in fact, your lack of respect has made me hate you.
So fine.
Fuck you.
It's nice to know you're there.
But I don't care anymore for your sanity.
I hate to see a grown man cry.
Yet, I've done it a thousand times.
No. No. No. NO. NO NONONONONONO'
I HATE YOU

I DONT WANT YOU GONE
I JUST WANT YOU TO RAISE ME RIGHT
OH SORRY IF YOU HAVENT SEEN ME ALL WEEKEND
BUT I ACTUALLY HAVE THINGS TO DO.
I'm not going to let my "friend" determine exactly when I can do things.
So you shove your bullshit rules where the sun don't shine.
my "friendship" with you has cost me my others.
Derrick's disappointed.
Kayla's disappointed. she seems to be all the time in me. to the point of like "fuck you then."

so thanks a lot.
Thanks for the memories.
What goes around comes around.
So i'll probably have a shit life
but i'd rather have a shit life with the ones i love.
i hope you're one of them but don't take me over.

honestly, if i can't do it now,
how can i do it later?

Scars

I couldn't care less about their shadows
I couldn't care less about how close their hands were.

I don't even notice even more.

"I'll fucking do it."

He held her neck with his arm and held a knife with his hand.

The windows from the 21st floor of the office building were still clean despite the current situation.

Why did he do this?
Why is he so numb to everything?

He was a nice kid.
Smart; kind of cute.

And he was about to slit his girlfriends throat.

Her golden gun colored hair was still perfect even with drops of blood being stained into it.
It almost gave her a bit of acceptance and grime.

I still couldn't understand why. or how.
How did this boy who was raised with right and wrong go so...so...

Dangerous?


Then I realized it doesn't matter if you know right or wrong. The only difference is that you know if you're doing right or wrong. It's all from your perspective.

My hands were cold from the rope tying them together behind my back.

I blinked and they were on him. One gunshot to the head from across the room.
Didn't even flinch.