I'll continue editing this with new ideas until the characters run out, then I'll make a new post. Feel free to comment/criticize.

* - Late night Writing.

The dog and the blinded

The feeling where you actually feel passionate, and want to help someone, but in the end, you don't. They say they don't care, there's nothing left out there. All that's left is darkness and no more light can be spared. But they are right besides the light, but can't see because they are looking straight ahead. They see the tunnel, but not the end, or even the fact that they are still at the beginning. It's more like walking a blind old man through a maze, of many walls, hoping for him to trust you. But for each time, he does not, he takes the opposite way to only fall down due to his own lack of trust and self hatred. From there, we go out of the maze. We start over. But, it seems like every time you try to guide, he goes the opposite way. After all is done, you realized you're a mess. You tried so hard helping the blind man out, your sight is hazy too. You know the maze pretty well, and there seems to be no options left. But, when you think about it, and decide, you think you might as well tell him the opposite so he can go the right way with his ignorance. Sadly, for you, he was just beginning to trust you. You can be caring. You can love. The only thing wrong is, everyone else isn't...well, at least to the blind old man.~

Death Row

Your heart beat is low, breathing at a constant rate of fear and confusion. Life never seemed to make much sense anymore, or at least to the intelligent people. It's five in the morning, the buildings are down, and the smell of blood is amiss. The house seems to be quieter than usual, the normal folly of children gone. There's no more electricity so you can only timidly hold onto a candle, squint your eyes, and hope that a sign of solace comes soon. The noise for last time is gone, too, which makes the mood even more tense. The steps you make are quiet, as if not to disturb the creaking wooden floor itself.

The candle light reveals more blood shed across the wall, an eyeball or two on the floor. There was a nice crunch under your feet awhile ago; best bet was that it was an eyeball too. Blood stains of struggling hands and half shot brains lay in front of you, as your steps pace slower than the last. There had been something wrong. All this death, with no culprit...no light to show who, what, or who the hell did this...what was this cruel fate that was bestowed on you? Why here, why now...why at this house?

The candle flickers out in midst on the thoughts, the madness, the depression of the serial killer in the residency. Dropping the candle came easy since it had served it's use. Faster, you moved, heart rate jumping from it's previous submissive standpoint. There had been no way the killer was something human--maybe it had been half beast or half God...could it have been a messenger from God himself, or could it be the devil? There was only darkness now, even if it had been daylight outside. Cold hands grasps yours, making it no priority to keep comfort for the grabbed.

The hands pull down yours with little trouble at all, since, you didn't want to struggle. There would be no marks of shame, bravery, nor marks of subterfuge with your finger prints...it would be useless. The harder he pulled the more the joints connecting the arms to the shoulder popped. The killer must've wanted this, to hear the joints and muscles pop from your body like popcorn in the microwave. The pressure on the bones that had been applied was immense, your lips quavering just to conceal the look of sheer misery on your face. He backed away from you, those murderous hands of the liaison pulling at yours.

There had been no of happy ending to this story, since they are are for the weak. Intellect you have is stronger than that. Pulling turned into breaking as the arms shredded out of the shoulder socket, blood trickling from either side. The shock had knocked you out, of course. But, to die in honor and not cowardliness was the code of the intelligent. For we wish to die from society so.

Love No More*

There is something in my heart I wish to write. But, it just won't come out. I know there's something else in yours too, but your wearing that cracked mask you enjoy wearing from time to time. I know why you have your arms open, wide, as if your trying to give me a hug. I can see better, you know. I'm not thirteen anymore. I'm not under your love drunk spell, or any kind by the way. I may be naked, but I won't give into temptation. I want to understand your struggles, hates, loves, endeavors. But, threatening me this way isn't right.

Why can't we ever have a normal relationship? Why can't you have some sort of encrypted cry for help instead of a automatic machine gun shooting at anyone who dares knock on the doors of your heart. Why can't you tell me there's something wrong, or, there's another change within you.

Your arms are too wide, rigid, waiting for me to come in so you could entrap me in your embrace. This isn't love. I can feel the danger radiating from you a mile away. Whatever happened yesterday, tell me about it...we don't need to do this, you know. Talking is as healthy, heck, even healthier than this sin that's about to happen. Why can't you look into my eyes, in that mask? Why can't I cry with you now, is it too much for your sadistic fancies?

The room feels hotter now. It's so hot, why are you wearing that mask? It makes me feel uneasy you know. I wish you could talk, instead of just show actions. NO! I won't fall for that easy get away trick your trying to pull.

I won't fall into your embrace. It's a trick of the eye, heart, and soul. You only want to do that so I can run away crying again, just to see if the old one year hurt and mental damage is still there. Why here, this day, do you love hurting me? Abusing me? Isn't enough that you own me? Why can't I feel anything but burning pain in your face now? Why are you crying now?..WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE TALKATIVE?..Sorry, I was too loud. Should go ahead and close your arms now, I'm not gonna fall for it. Even if it we stay this way forever, I refuse to fall for the trap you have set up. Leave me alone, or take off the mask.

Please, show me where those tears are coming from...why are you crying? Tell me, I wish to help. You don't have to feel this pain alone, I want to feel it too. Workaholic? No, I'm not. Fine, but just this once will I embrace you. And just once more...and just this isn't.

When, Where, and Why
When the flesh is really only physical.
When you feel the soul, your actual soul, burning like a thousand candles left burning all night long.
When you know you aren't sick, you're just depressed, stuck in a slump.

Where you suck at everything, and everyone is worried about you. All you can say is "it'll pass".
Where, when you walk, you stop, just to stop the pain from circulating throughout your whole body.
Where you tear things apart, cry over it, then try to shut yourself up since you know you're the only one to blame.

Why are you like this; because some idiot you loved broke your heart, and you don't know what goes where.
Why can't you stand up proudly; because that same idiot stole your pride, charisma, and joy that you once had in life.
Why can't you be mad at him; because you still love him so.

Cycle
We hurt you, so we can love ourselves
throw logic out the window every time love doesn't make sense

Now's the time that we turn into animals
Tear each other apart like cannibals
Claim it's fair play since last time it was a foul play
~

Love never prevails, but it sure cause trauma.
Head hurts so much, tylenol does a face palm when we try to take it
It's about time to start doubting ourselves, since we

Stutter at the "L" word when it's used as a verb instead of a preposition.
But how are we suppose answer when we have terminal cancer in love department
So corrosive it burns through sticks and stones that break our bones

And all that's left to do is sit and moan,
Then hold onto our knees and wait for the next victim.
++I make raps once a year when I get that feeling to do so. They usually suck :/

WARNING: There is strong language within this small snippet of my story. Don't read if you believe you might be offended..other than that, enjoy.

"Should you be reminded what you here for?" She had asked, holding onto my neck like all the dicks she blew and sucked. She was a whore, and will always be one. At least to me. Whores are the best at sucking, and she sucks. A lot. At least to me. All she can do is pull a bitch hair out and suck a n***a dick. All she can do. Alls' she's ever been able to do.

"Did you forget the fact that it's my birthday--oh, I forget, you do this bullshit ever year." I had retorted, with the little air I had left. I wasn't going, it wouldn't be like the hoe she was. It was going to be like the bitch she had been to me. Every year she did this shit, it was the only reason she would visit me like this. Smirking at me like that, giving me that awful glare like I was some sort of hood chick. I am not any ghetto girl from the Bronx, or some girl raised in the hood of Chicago. She needed to fess up, since we both weren't as ghetto as we made each other sound. She was adopted kid from the South, and I was a girl who been around just about everything in the coast. I looked up at her ugly ass face, don't even want to describe how ashy brown her natural skin color is. Or, how short her hair was, and how much trouble she had curling it. Her breasts weren't big enough to give a titty fuck, like I'd give a fuck to her. Hah, I made a funny, see?

"Bullshit? Don't know what fucking bullshit you pulled on me? When your young ass was twelve and stole him from me? You know what, you're just another hood rat. A girl trying to make her way to the top, but bitch, I'm the fucking boss around here!" she tried to yell, but I guess she was focusing so hard on trying to hoe me. She was trying to be some sort of ghetto girl, to break away from her all-girls high school persona. She was running from her past, and sad to say, I was too. She was being a whore for the thrill, and I was just neglecting the anger that had beeb building between us. Sure we all make mistakes, but I have a feeling this is one of those mistakes you just can't fix.

"Hood rat? May I remind you that I come from a town in North Carolina, and taught in a nearly all white school. You, my ma'm--" I had began to reply, but her free arm had slapped me right across the cheek, as if I were some incessantly barking dog. She knew I had been right, and that we don't even know why we had changed this way. Hell, I don't even know why we drifted so far apart. A drop of blood was starting to run down my cheek, but I wanted it to be a tear. Maybe it'd make this moment less of a stereotype.

"Bitch, you ain't listenin'. I do this shit every year to remind youwhose is boss around here, and that boss is me. I've seen you with him, I've seen you two kiss, your ass is all up on his dick. Leave him, or I'll break him harder this time." she had came close, whispering to me like it had been some sort of secret. He knew, well, for the most part. All she ever did was come around late May, give him a little ass, then leave again so he'd chase after her like puppy. Sad thing about it is that she's losing her touch, since he aint falling for it that easy.

"Boss? So you the President of the United States now? Good fucking job, now all you have to do is fix up that grammar of yours, and maybe you can fix this fucking problem we got going on now!" I had screamed at her, the air in my lungs becoming scarce. Maybe all that running she did in college was helping her; though I doubt high school was helping me much. I could take all the AP classes in the world, but that bitch would still be ahead of me. No matter how much I had ran to the finish line, I'm still going at a snail's pace...that shit sounds poetic. I could feel another slap, but I could care less at this point. We were just gonna do what we always did. Fight and see randoms in the background hoping a bra would show, or hopefully get ripped off. We'd get sent to the police station, bail ourselves out, and get recommended anger management classes. Maybe they helped me, but definitely not her. All she did was suck dick, and pull hair. It's how a girl like her survives. It's how an over sheltered girl reacts to society.

"Oh, now you gonna get it hoe!" She had yelped, a hand digging in my curls. I could feel her pulling away from my throat to attempt to get some hair. Hah, what I tell ya? Hoes always go after the hair.

. . .

"Name?" the woman had asked me, the same woman as usual. Why the fuck would you ask for my name if you heard it a hundred times already?

"Star Driea." I had answered, trying to keep my cool. These white people always think they have the upper hand, that, just because they lived in better environments, they automatically cross the finish line.

"And age?" she had pressed further, though I don't fucking understand why she doesn't understand. She must be a dumb broad. Maybe she was one of those white people who thought helping those "less fortunate" would somehow do good to society. Gotta actually help to help, not just work at a place where you put people in jail.

"Almost seventeen." I had replied, my bloody hands folded on my ripped jeans. My shirt was bloody too since, like always,I was fucking her up. If I would've known she'd come a day early, I would've wore something more suited to fight in.

"You are aware we still need to contact your parents, right?" said the woman, sounding like a broken record. No matter what age I'd give her, I bet she'd still say the same things.

Name? And Age? You are aware. . .

"And who did you get into the altercation with, Ms.Star?" she had asked, once more, maybe not getting through her mind that I was the same person she saw, every fucking year, always.

"Aleea Grant, bitch."

The Lonely Drunk
I drink my posset
like a guard
I defend my lonely heart
lonely I am, and yes
I am really drunk
so I party some more
forgetting what I am suppose to guard

Drinking is my first
and yes this is my last
because i know when i wake up
I'll be mad as hell
Oh yeah!
Drinking isn't my life
it was what it used to be
now I can pretend to be happy
for one last dance

Dancing like anything is not a worry
that's because I am too stuck in positivity
do positive people think positively this?
Or am I just belligerence simplified to fit the common need?

I got one more hour to become sober, no money no coffee and no sleep
Think it's 'bout time for me to start the chorus
cause if I don't i'll be typing like a tourist
twittering some stupid shit

Drinking is my first
and yes this is my last
because i know when i wake up
I'll be mad as hell
Oh yeah!
Drinking isn't my life
it was what it used to be
now I can pretend to be happy
for one last dance

Now 'tis the end
my heart feels like nothing
it's replaced with the Ecstasy of liquor
smelling of hate and wishing to be loved
but I shut it up for another time
for if let loose, I may lose my sanity
The only thing that will bring a person like me permanent sobriety
is to be hated until there is nothing left of 'thee

So now let's end with the chorus that somehow wraps this song up
So I can go cry deeply in my bed thereof.

Drinking is my first
and yes this is my last
because i know when i wake up
I'll be mad as hell
Oh yeah!
Drinking isn't my life
it was what it used to be
now I can pretend to be happy
for one last dance