Other Writings

She ain’t the most beautiful, but she’s got a stunning soul,

Ain’t a selfish fucking Capricorn, just looking for a role.

Consistent, she ain’t a light switch, only slow and steady,

Doesn’t just erase people like dirt—ain’t nothing in her petty.

Smart but not pretentious, more to her than just caress,

And she ain’t no fake Christian, not looking to impress.

She don’t try to act cool with words not her own,

Just says it how she sees it, without needing to be shown.

Her mind is hers and she comes...

This is how it happened, the full story, not the scraps sold as truth by a self-interested heart. These are the parts told but unheard, unaddressed, unheeded by those who believed and still believe what was and is most convenient for them. It is a story of unfairness and self-serving lies, of heartbreak, and of conformity to a world without a soul. It is the story of the death of trust and the murder of love.

He had not wanted her. He had found her annoying and cloying, too interested in...

Her greatest illusion, self-delusion, was convincing everyone around her that the bridge she had chosen to stand upon was burning itself to attack her, while she still held the smoking match in her hand, and the scars she wore from the burning wreckage were entirely someone else’s fault, as she sought dry land that did not want to be her home. She was an arsonist, a Munchausen pyromaniac, setting fire to her own fate and scorning the ashes for soiling her.

What was once freely given has been retracted,

For sincerity was deemed a weakness in the eyes of a mistake.

It will be given no more, unless one comes who only desires the same,

One who will fight for it, loyalty and interest, nothing more,

No other demands, no other expectations, no weighing of others’ judgments.

What I gave before was wasted, and no amount of time can make its loss valuable.

It is theirs no more, and they do not care that it is so,

Vainly believing it can be found in the...

There is no falling in love with someone over the internet,

Delusion of exponential extremes.

You fall for a dream only, that lives in your head, not in life,

Not in touch nor kiss nor any real knowing.

You force it to exist, and your heart knows it is not real.

You are nothing but a substitute for him, an easy play.

But you play yourself as much as he plays you, for you have nothing to offer that man but something to abuse,

And he has already abused you, abused your torn emotions for his own...

Thrown away, the one who’d listened, loved,

Who’d cared about her interests, not expecting his adopted,

Who thought of her as a person.

That abomination.

She didn’t want to be a person,

With all the baggage of having to make her own decisions,

Instead of obeying commands, conforming,

Having to acknowledge her own feelings,

Instead of being told what she should feel.

Taking solace in their self-serving interest,

They, seeing more a dog to control than a woman.

But that was how she’d been raised,...

She attached herself to men who didn’t want her, pining after them from afar, trying to mold herself into something, not someone, they might desire, or just take because they’d blown their marriages with their stellar personalities, “douchebag ‘Christianity.’” Most spurned her, though they had never been worth her time, ugly, infantile men. It was a form of self-abuse, but a self-abuse she could not relinquish, and she reveled in fantasies that would only end in disappointment. Love was not...

Raised to worship conmen with crosses

Stunted in a need for daddy

Naturally following those with the same shortcoming

And the more she was surrounded by them

The more her mind buried its natural reason

Accepted garbage as truth, frauds as saints

Falling into a never-ending cycle of delusion

But it hid her own from the light

He’d only asked it to get to know her better, to find commonalities. It was a simple name origin search, nothing more, a hobby he’d had for years. But her response, while feigning friendship, was to lie, which he new immediately, not because he had checked, he hadn’t, but simply because she wasn’t related to anyone else by that name. The significance of the prevarication did not hit him until much later, though he did not understand it and thought, maybe, there had been some kind of name...

They called themselves believers but in what did they believe?

Their lives were marked by selfishness, not love, greed as a disease.

The did not forgive unless it was for their own advantage, need.

They did not repent for lies, feigning regret in prayer not deed.

They worshiped wealth not charity, did not mature with age.

Children and spouses only property, locked in a social cage.

They hated freely, with smiles plastered fake to deceive,

And judged everyone they came across, those lost not to...

Why are you friends and wannabe more with so many men

Who are blocked, no, not friends, with their ex spouses?

Do you believe it is the women who are always to blame

Refuse to entertain that your trust-fund baby friends are louses?

They show every other sign of being greedy and infantile,

Yet you add them and keep them and pretend they’re not vile.

They show every other sign of sociopathic lying

But you tend to the friendships as if they are golden and shining.

Are you so brainwashed you think...

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Nothing he’d ever said then was manipulative, gaslighting, and none of it was now. She’d gaslighted him, before not getting her way and resorting to outright lying, manipulating those around her for support. What little he’d done that could be perceived as playing with her mind had never been undertaken for that reason, the opposite, in fact, and she knew it. Later malformed attempts at self-defense were just that,...

“The question is: where did he come from?”

“And the answer appears to be a rather simple choice. Since they seem to share no mutuals, it would appear that she was thrown at him by some short-sighted matchmaker, likely one who somehow knows a friend of a friend of his. It is also possible that she met him on a dating site, or, given the type of man he appears to be, we should rightly call it a prostitution site, since men like him are used to buying people, and, in that case, she is likely...

You blew it for no reason,

Threw away what you made into a trial without cause.

You took my friendship as a curse, and now you can never have it back,

Never have unwavering loyalty, the real thing, not advantage.

I swallowed my love, knowing it was unrequited,

But that was not good enough for you and you played me for it.

I would have stood by you unmovable when you were right.

I would have called you out when you were wrong.

That’s the real thing, not the coddlers who tell you what you want...

And what was missing in those photos,

The ones he hid from public,

As once he no longer owned her she ceased to exist to him,

After all that time … as you will.

What was missing … what likely never existed …. affection,

Where is the love?

In all he is the center of attention in his own mind,

The camera is only on him,

She nothing but a side piece he does not even lean toward,

No closeness, even unspoken by body language.

It’s merely a show, a put on for society.

No doubt she was the trophy, the...

You said it was “gay,” as if you were twelve,

That sincerity was “gay,” parroting the loser men you mimic.

No, dear, if anything were lame, it was you and your blase dismissal of something real.

What is lame is your values, your affected faith, your inability to change direction.

What is lame is whom you choose, men from a world of posturing,

Trapped in an adult infant world of nepotistic braggartry and lack of substance.

What is “gay,” sweetheart, is the selfishness, the pretend, your lack...

He had haunted her for years. He could pop into her mind at any moment and did. However, she was not and had never been self-aware enough to stop and ask herself why, why her mind would not relinquish thoughts she had told herself she did not want, only to appease others. It was the source of all her bad decisions. It had been the same with her behavior towards him, before the troubles, before they’d told her “no,” she, seemingly oblivious to her own need to acknowledge him, to touch him...

Immortality comes from leaving something behind,

Not just genes, but a tangible piece of your soul,

Some manner of meaning in a chaotic universe,

A clue to having existed.

But you care not to leave anything,

Not even to exist as yourself in your short time,

Desirous to do away with your own being, own mind,

To lose yourself in someone else’s name,

Someone else’s life, someone else’s views, adopted wholesale.

You seek to leave nothing,

Not even to share yourself in love, only to obey and...

Interest from the start consistent, persistent

Hand grabbing for no known reason

Touching, a need for it grasping her soul

Approaches too close, in my space

Head tilted up, body heat, sultry eyes

Things said, more than innuendo

Later denials only lies, control of the story

She probably made it up about going to the doctor

Desperate to seem submissive to my suggestion

A need to ensure I knew she had listened

But when it all became real, a real possibility to have and hold

Panic set in, a fear of...

I have no impetus.

No drive left to lose weight, which would easily dissipate.

No longing to be healthy, to stop the smoke from choking.

No want of trading for a better income, a better life,

My soul cannot bear the thought of lingering anymore.

No desire for love haunts me.

I dream now only of spilling myself, emptying my head of memory,

Becoming mindless and free of perpetually conflicted thoughts,

To rid myself of the only hope that is no hope at all,

And never was,

To believe in nothing...