Posts Tagged ‘story’

When everything is gone, well, everything is gone. When there’s nothing left, well, there’s nothing left. And this includes belongings, feelings and everything that came across and became part of our everyday life. No, it wasn’t a hurricane, nor a fire, or a flood that got rid of all these things, but rather the rage of a human being. Hate and indifference can be so destructive, especially towards others. I’m the center of all this aggression. My sin: trying to correct what was seemingly uncorrectable. The backlash has been much more than destructive; it’s been overkill. It’s not enough to burn someone to death, chop it into pieces, put it in a plastic bag, dig a hole on the floor, piss all over the carcass, put gasoline over and light it on fire… No. A gathering of friends has to be done, while they laugh at your demise and spit on your chopped-up dead body. Make its children see all of these horrible events, while telling them “this is what happens when you displease mommy.”

None of that (the aforementioned) were metaphors, no, except for the fact that I’ve been physically murdered. Everything is as violent and a gruesome as it sounds. She took the house, the car, my kids, my rights, my freedom and everything else; she got rid of. She literally got rid of everything else. All of my paintings that I’ve done, everything single book of poetry I’ve written, every draft of an idea I had penned down, all of my school diplomas, degrees, and everything I’ve bought over the years. I’m talking 20 years of things that I’ve worked on and $6,000 worth of articles I’ve bought. So basically I have no record whatsoever of whom I‘ve been for the past 20 years. She got rid of everything that defined me as a human being with a history.

Guess it’s time to start anew? Like a damn baby but with grown broken body. Not being overly dramatic. My body literally hurts. I have no intentions in beginning anew. This wave of destruction either ends with her, or it will continue to swallow up everyone around. Even at distance, it haunts me like a “Japanese” ghost. Hehehe, those are the ones that never let you be even if you come to terms with them.

So how’s my anger level? I guess in control. But, my hatred level… that’s another story. I literally hate this person, and as Christian I find no struggles in that. My fellow Christians are like “man, let it go. It’s nothing.” I was even asked to repent to the sins that drove that woman become the person she is now. I mean, whut? I haven’t told the whole story here, but long story short, she wouldn’t be where she is if it wasn’t for me. This was a girl who was constantly high, drunk, sleeping around, and by that time she was only 16 years old. I’ve seen people fuck up their lives, but she truly deserved a fucking medal or a trophy. By the time she was 19 I tried to help her get sober. I stood up against her abusive parents to defend her, and took the blame for everything she’s done wrong. You know now how that ended. My sin was being a stupid masochist that would give his pride to help another.

Now I’m here, with nothing, just the law behind my back because of their naïvetés and cynical ways of not looking for the truth. I have no money but they want to look for a lot of it to give it to my ex. How much I love the corrupt system!!! I’ve spoken to every agency and told them my story, even made a written testimony, and all they’ve done with all this, is used those sheets as toilet paper to clean their dirty asses.

So what about my kids? I haven’t been able to see them in over a year. An agency is taking care of them as their mother pretend to the judge that she’s the one doing it. I’ve been accused of being a negligent father and abusive husband. Funny, I’ve never laid a finger on her, never verbally abused her, and I was the one who was always in favor of our children being taken care of by ourselves, while she was always constantly insinuating what a bother that was. I guess when the world is blind, the world is truly blind. So, yeah, I’ve got pretty much sick of most human beings, seeing how heartless and full of shit they are.

Hahaha, how much I’ve talked about myself here, huh? You still reading? No? It’s okay. Drama is boring anyways. I just felt I needed to get these things of my chest. Maybe write a damn book about it. Laugh it off a bit. Who knows? Maybe my ex will find a way to get me arrested for something else she’d lie about. I don’t care anymore. I feel so bad for my children. If I could save them, I would. But the justice system sucks and it’s only in her favor. In the meanwhile, I’ll keep here, sending her money, (the little money I have,) while the system keeps sending me letters telling me that the money I send her doesn’t pay my debts with them. So, whatever… My kids have no monetary needs. That’s a relief for me. But they do need a father. I’m trying to reach for them. Like I said I’ve spoken with countless of agencies and a lot of lawyers, and they all say, either that they’re gonna help me; which they don’t, or that my case is a lost cause. So, there we go again, another blind alley.

To sum it all up, just thanks for reading, for those who did, if you did. Godbless and I’ll be back with some more poetry soon. Take care y’all!


The Ice Cream Assassin (A Story Of Distance Friends)

She’s a red head
That looks like a goth girl
Passing by
Almost invisible to the crowd.

Her middle name is Marie
And her nick’s Melancholy
With a scarred soul
To hide her beautiful face.

She writes gloomy poetry
About choked dolls and raped mannequins
Just as mom used to
And the man next door.

The net might be her very best friend
With Jeremy on her number one list
A 21 year old suicidal
Chatting with a 19 year old freak.

She’s a Canadian girl
With American customs
She likes raspberry swirls
Just like her favorite singer.

Self injuring is her favorite pastime
Other than being frustrated by the one in the distance
She’s a kitty cat and he’s an injured bunny
And they both look like as if they were born together.

She likes to play the violin
He only can play the piano
They’re both singers and poets
With a secret under their sleeves.

“Oh dear Jeremy…” She says
“I wish we wouldn’t have this abyss”
He shakes his head, quite sad
He cannot believe how cruel life is.

An abrupt ending to an abrupt friendship
Protocol became the order of the day
She walked slowly, straying further and further from her spot
He tried to follow but he never could find her or even could find out what was that drove her away.

About “A Motion Cycle” (A Piece of the novel I’ve been writing for ages…)
    “The band is formed by two guitar players, a bassist and a drummer. They are very serious looking people; wearing their silver watches, dark blue long sleeves shirts, tucked in their black pants, dark-gray belts, and well shined black shoes, with their dark hair carefully brushed and combed. They depict a very serious aspect, as they stand still, staring at the public. Ryan Lyandree; lead singer of the band, comes forward from the back of the stage. He grabs on the microphone.  Ryan looks quite different from the rest of his band mates.  He’s short, pale and skinny, with a curved bent on his back, bared feet, shirtless, wearing nothing but short white pants and a long black wig to cover up his shaved head.  His age doesn’t match up the young features that his face displays, for he’s 47 years old and he looks like he’s in his 20’s.  Ryan lifts up his left arm and salutes the fans.  The voice spewing from his microphone through the giant amplifiers sounds beautiful; almost as hypnotizing as the intensive, progressive music being played by the band. Hanging on the back and around the stage; images of war and violence flashes from giant screens. This is the environment in which “A Motion Cycle” displays their derisive personas perfectly adjoined with their flawless skills.”


— I know it sucks… but oh well…