Death · Everyday Life · Guest Author · Love · Religion

No God’s Here: by Asoka

I tried to smoke it off but the pain won’t go away

The bottle’s nearly empty and I still wanna die today

I popped a couple pills and I kinda feel okay

My forty-five is for me and I’ll have to use it one day

 

She, really did hurt me but

I, control my death these days

As, I hold my gun to my brain

I, know my demons don’t go away

 

But that is okay, I’m always this way

A shot to my brain, I drink the bottle again

I’m so full of lies, can’t swallow my pride

I don’t want any fucking help

 

I’m not okay, I wanna die

My demons are always tryna pull me in

There are no tears, I have no fear

My body has become numb again

 

I know will burn, won’t get no urn

I ready to go that way

All of this pain, so little gained

My humanity has died away

 

I don’t need another half

I only want money and drugs

Changing my love, like changing my gloves

Cuz I don’t ever feel that way

 

No gods here

I’m King of Death

I’m am not new to this

Cuz I had invented this

 

I am a god, fucking the devil for her looks

My heart is dead, I killed it just to know myself

Relapsed again, my drug of choice is destruction

My mind it’s slipping, I’m so narcissistic

 

King of Death, I’m in control

I watch the hammer cock back

My pistol’s black, the bullets are cold

Fucking my demon for her wealth

Everyday Life · Friendship · Guest Author · Guest Photographer · Uncategorized

The Time Capsule: by Penny Preston 5/22/18

My calendar must be replaced

this I hate to do.

The memories invoked within are pleasing to review.

 

I’ll forget about the dentist.

Don’t remind me of the vet,

but the movie night with girlfriends

brought some fun I don’t regret.

 

I enjoyed the cookout with my sons.

Had pleasure at the beach

The potluck at work had lots of laughts

I like reliving each…

 

I, now, glance down into my purse

my checkbook is all full.

ohhh…. the craftshow ….

Death · Guest Author · Nature

I hate the rain: by Trevor S.

I hate the rain

 

I hate the way it looks

I hate the way it makes me feel

I hate the way it reminds me

 

of my failures

my pains

all the times I’ve hurt…

 

…the people I love

 

I hate the way it slides down windows

I hate the way it makes my clothes stick

 

to my skin

my mind

all these memories…

 

… that drown the present

 

pour down my throat

until I’m coughing

until oxygen is a memory too

burning in my veins

ripping me apart

 

I hate that it rains when love dies

 

when you died

it rained too much,

and you drowned

 

and I want

 

to drown too

 

I hate the rain

Death · Guest Author

The Soldier: by Penny Preston

The bullets whizzed by as the war raged on.

My training was put to the test.

I saw my friends fall. My mind became numb.

Then a sudden pain filled my chest.

 

My world turned gray and all sounds grew faint.

Life’s end would leave so much undone.

As I slipped into darkness the last thought I had

was I wish I could just hold my son.

 

I was jarred awake as man carried me.

We reached the top of a hill.

He set me down gently and squeezed my hand.

Then all of the sudden grew still.

 

My sob burst free when I saw he’d been hit.

The injustice filled me with grief.

This man who’d saved me had just been killed,

and I stared in pained disbelief.

 

Now several months later it’s Easter. I’m home.

I realize the gift of God’s son.

He knew he would die to save all of our lives

and a new life for me has begun.

 

I freely accept this precious gift

by no earning or deed is it gained.

But by the way that I live, may he realize my love

and know he did not die in vain.

Guest Author · Nature

The View: by Penny Preston

As I looked out through my window I knew fall was in the air.

The neighbor’s tree in color is a view beyond compare.

My window frames it perfectly, a frame through which I see

a picture-perfect pleasure standing tall majestically.

But then I noticed with a frown, this view that sends delight,

because it branches start so high, is above their line of sight.

This dazzling work of nature is a thing they can’t behold.

In fact, to them it’s just plain work, I bet, if truth were told.

I surmise I even do the same. I only notice stress,

and simply take for granted what’s perceived by most as blessed.

We often fail to notice what other people see,

because we’re busy raking leaves and stressed-out constantly.

I think I’ll get my neighbor, though it may seem strange to do,

and ask her over to my yard to get a better view.