Tweelop's Nightmare

Tweelop was a little cat; a little cat with a problem.
She suffered from schizophrenia but how, she could not fathom.

As the days passed by and the nights skipped on, she felt a lump growing in her head.
And as the nights passed by and the days skipped on, another one grew; increasing the dread.

And finally on a white Christmas eve,
The bumps grew causing her much grief.

And in the mirror did she catch a glimpse of herself.
And one look told her she was doomed to hell.

The horns that grew upon her head.
Made her look like a reindeer with Satan had crossbred.

Was this reality or was this the insanity meddling with her head?
Well we'll never know for Tweelop was shot dead.

Morbidium

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own works. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The photographer, Christine von Diepenbroek should be noted for this picture.]



Hey mister, my joints are hurting; I know I am getting old
Would you sit down a while with me? I hope I’m not being bold
I know I am aged and I know that you are young
I know my time is running out; the breath is limited in my lungs
Forgive me for taking away so much of your precious time
I wish to talk with someone; someone in their prime.
Let me tell you a story; a story of a time long gone
A story that will grieve you greatly; a sad story I must warn.

I had myself a daughter; a daughter had I
Blessed was she with the gift of the hidden third eye
She saw into the future; she saw into the past
But her own future she could never forecast
One cold stormy evening, she returned home
Her clothes were all soaked in blood and at her mouth foam
“Dear Father I know not how
But I am covered in blood and there is spittle in my mouth!
I was coming home from the marketplace
Humming a song and minding my own business
When out of the blue
I saw an apparition of you!”

Startled and frightened, I hastened to her side
Trying to calm my beloved daughter, for she looked a bloody fright!
But refusing to accept my soothing hand; she tossed it aside
And in a fit of frenzied desperation, she put up a fight!

“Dear Daughter! Dear Daughter! What has gotten into you?
I fear for your health, do you think it could be the flu?
But what is all this blood and what is all this foam?
Have you been bitten by a rabid cur on the way back home?”

“Dear Father, listen to what I have to say
I fear my time is nearing its end so I beg you, I pray!
I saw an apparition of you today
And it was standing right there in my way
It opened its mouth as if to speak
But into its eyes I managed to peek.
The sorrow, the depth, the isolation, the grief!
The iris’ that were the colour of a burning leaf.
It looked into my eyes for a minute
And smiled a smile to scare any spirit
And in a tone that turned me to stone
It told me that I would die today alone!”

And try as I may to calm my little daughter
I could not soothe her nerves; I’m afraid I was a bad father
And so to rid her of her delusions
I mixed a pinch or two of sedative in her meal; in tiny portions
And sent her off into deep slumber
So I could sit in the den just to ponder.

In the morning, at the crack of dawn
I woke to find my daughter gone
I searched and I searched but to no avail
Life without my daughter; it seems so pale!

A fortnight went by with no news of her
And then one Sunday morning I was woken by my neighbour
He said he had some news of my daughter
They found her body drowned deep in water
I wept and I wept but what’s the use of having tears?
They couldn’t in any way bring her near!
My life from that moment was lonely and still
And as the years passed I took to the pill.

Then one stormy august night
I woke up in a sweaty fright
I saw myself standing with my daughter
I saw myself holding her head under the water
I saw her gasping and begging for mercy
I saw above all my eyes gleaming with glee and fury

I told myself that ‘twas just a dream
But somehow I knew there was more to it than what it seems
Alas dear friend! I tried hard to look into the matter
To find out if it was I who murdered my daughter
And as the days passed by the dreams became more frequent and absurd
And from that day on my sanity was punctured

I visited a doctor, I visited two
They said there was nothing that they could do
My heart it seems was gripped by depression
And in turn ‘twas contracting my mind with these delusions
They said that it was but a natural outcome
Of a father grieving for his daughter long gone
They said that I had taken the guilt upon myself
For not dealing with my daughter; for not giving her more help

For a while I listened to what they had to say
But as the dreams became more absurd with the passing of the day
I found myself not willing to eat or to sleep
I found myself getting more immersed in a trance so deep
That at times I knew not where I was or where I’m going to be
You know not how bad it feels to be me.

No doctors could help me; no therapy could ease my mind
Not a single reasonable solution to this problem I could find
My life deteriorated rapidly, going from bad to worse
Living this life now seems like a curse
And then a day came when I got up at night
I saw another vision to give me a bigger fright
I saw myself walking alone on a road
And with my right hand I dragged a heavy load
And in my left hand, there gleamed a bloody knife
With droplets of blood dripping; I now know I had killed my wife

I got up with a start, shaking from head to toe
These dreams I could not disclose to anyone; neither friend nor foe
I now realize that those dreams were connected
They formed a part of me that was left untouched and uninterrupted
Flashbacks of my life came racing back to me
Of times when I saw my mother being beaten up by my daddy
Of all the times when it seemed to me
Like my life had paused and erased a part of my memory
Of not knowing what I did or where I was an hour back
Of knowing that there was a part of me that the others had and that I lacked

Crying and weeping I ran into the night
All those images of the murders I had to fight
I had killed my daughter; I had killed my wife
How helpless they must have been, they didn’t deserve that kind of life
And to the river I ran to drown myself in the cold water
But when I reached the banks; my energy sapped, I began to totter
And like a mad man I spoke to myself that night
“You don’t deserve to die
You deserve to live and you deserve to suffer
You deserve to drown in your guilt you cold blooded murderer!”

And so in the black of the night did I surrender
I gave myself up to the nearest police officer
But in a fit of hysteria he sent me away
Thinking me to be a mad man with too much to drink today
“Multiple personality disorder!” laughingly said he
“I think my wife has it, there’s always a change in her personality!”
And with that I was dismissed
What good did it do me to have confessed?

And with that I stomped dejectedly back home
Waiting for all the deaths and the murders that were yet to come
I killed my wife; I killed my daughter
Do you think I would stop to kill another?
I know I am laughing, I know you are scared
But sit with me awhile mister and the whole truth shall be bared…

[At the Greenhorn Mental Asylum, the faint sounds of the ambulance could be heard wafting on the wind. The birds chirped, the butterflies fluttered, the patients muttered and everything was peaceful again. Another visitor was murdered, another life stamped out. But no one really cares at Greenhorn. Life must go on.]

Conversations with the Devil

These tears they fall down on my face
I cry without an ounce of grace
For I am human and I feel the hurt inside
And when the hurt draws nearer, there’s nothing to hide
No more masks to hide behind
No more faces to fool the blind
I’m crying and I’m crying and I know not why
It feels like these tears will drown me till I die

These tears they fall down on my breasts
My nipples they pucker; it feels like a caress
I know not why I am crying here alone
I begin to laugh as I sit on this cold floor of stone
“Why do I cry when I know nothing will come off it?
Why do I have to deal with this never-ending shit?”
As I cry and I laugh it begins to dawn on me
That in this body I can never be free.
As long as I have thoughts
I’ll be tortured a lot.

These tears they settle inside of my naval
I laugh and cry as though possessed by the devil
The hurt is choking me from within
I try to tell myself but I just don’t listen
The dam has broken at last it seems
Years of torture and grief revealed
But why the laughter escorting the tears?
For my mental sanity I do fear; I do fear

These tears at last they dry up inside of me
At last everything is perfectly clear for me to see
I’ve been crying all this while out of pity for myself
I have no friends and I need some help
No one to listen to my words of woe
No affectionate responses to help me grow
I’m alone in this world and it hurts to realize
That laughter is precious and love a prize

At this juncture the door opens wide
I can’t distinguish the figure in the sudden burst of light
A voice as cold as a stalagmite booms from without
“What’s the matter child? I can see your upset without a doubt.
Is there something I can do to help you?
Or is there something you’d like to do but can’t do?
Talk to me little one
For I am the only friend you have under the sun.”

At these kind words, I got up and wept
At last I know what it feels like to have a friend; to be blessed
“I have no friends’ good sir and for this reason I am upset.
But now that I have you there’s no more reason to fret.
I have but only one request of you.
I’m sure you wouldn’t mind doing it too.
It is but a small request
Could you please step into the room at my behest?”

At this the cold voice laughed aloud
A sound to break any spirit no doubt
A sound of impending doom and misery
A sound that still lies embedded in my memory.
I now regret making that small request
But its too late now, he has already listened to my behest
And into the room the stranger in the light stepped
If you had been there I’m sure you would have wept.

I cannot describe the sight that stood before me
I cannot believe there exists anything so ghastly
Frozen with fear and ever increasing doubt
There was a smile still plastered on my mouth
Taking this as a sign of acceptance
The stranger held my hand and kissed it with derision.
“Little one, little one, I know what it’s like to be lonely.
They call me the devil; they say that I’m ghostly.
Not a girl or a boy is willing to talk to me
Can you imagine how it must feel to be so lonely?”

At that he held my hand in a tight brace
And led me to the fireplace
“Sit dear one let us have a conversation
A conversation about love and friendship and absolute desolation.
Growing up as a child I was meek and mild
My father seeing this would be swept up in a fury so wild
‘Son, have you no respect for all of your kind?
Allow me to be your one and only guide.’
Hereafter I was taught and I was brainwashed
To do all things that would lead to absolute chaos
I have raped, I have murdered, I have plundered and caused suffering
This guilt that I’m dealing with does not abate; but I’m still struggling.”
At this the stranger broke down in tears
Crying unashamedly; he relieved me of my fears.

When the last traces of doubt and fear fled away from me
I reached out to embrace the devil, all the while consoling him soothingly.
Crooning and murmuring, my heart went out to him
And in an attempt to mollify him, I spoke on a whim.
“Dear Sir, fear not, now that you have confessed
You are already forgiven; you are ready for progress.
Is there anything that I can do for you?
Is there anyway that I can take away your blues?”

It was then that the devil stopped crying
It was then that he turned and looked me in the eyes.
“Yes there is in fact something you can do for me.
It will only take away nine months of your life you see.
I want you to bear me a child
And this is the reason why I have come to you tonight.”

These tears they now keep flowing down my face
These tears they now keep flowing down my breasts
These tears they will never settle in my naval
For I am now carrying the child of the devil…

[Note to the general audience - The sketches that I have posted are not my own works of art. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The artists remain unknown to me. To whomsoever they may be - I salute you!]

Don't love me baby, I'm cheating on you

Don’t love me baby, I’m cheating on you
I know it’s sad but it is the melancholy truth
Why must we go on like this?
Pretending like we are both living in a state of bliss
When in fact it is just one soul linked to mine
But mine is tainted with mud and brine
I cannot forgive myself for what I am about to do
For what I am about to lose; for what will happen to you.

In my own way I know I am not wrong
It’s just that my heart has begun to sing a different song
You held me in your hands the night before last
As I looked in your eyes, the thought in my mind flashed
Am I worth all this love; am I worth all this effort?
Am I worth all of this or is there something out there better?
No, pay careful attention to these words of mine
Take them as a warning or take them as a sign

My feelings for you I know they haven’t changed
But try as I may I know my feelings are deranged
I made this decision for good, better, best
But now I realize it doesn’t lie in your interest
How selfish I have been; how self-centred and obsessed
I captivated your heart, your mind, and left you possessed
But now I aim on leaving you bereft and subdued
Lost and defeated and hurt and bruised.

The time for us is slowly fading out
I’ll be gone before you know it; in the silence of dawn
I plan not on bidding you my last farewell
I plan on just leaving; I’m going to rot in hell.

Don’t love me baby, I’m cheating on you
I hope you can find a happier path to pursue.

[Note to the general audience - The sketches that I have posted are not my own works of art. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The artists remain unknown to me. To whomsoever they may be - I salute you!]

Baby Ismail

Waking up in the middle of the night
I had visions of a dream that filled me with fright
I saw void-like demonic eyes
That pulled me into them, ‘twasnt nice.

Gasping and sweating, I tried to summon god
But in that instant I felt something in my sheets; hard as a rod!
Oh merciful screams! How they were wrenched out of me!
And try as I may to move, I couldn’t feel my feet!

Pulling my sheets aside
Was I in for a sight!
Gone were my legs and feet
And in their place was a baby fast asleep.

Terror, fright and something akin to motherly instinct
Were the feelings invoked within me, emotions that I thought were long lost and extinct.
And right there before my eyes
The baby rose; oh what a surprise!
Yellow eyes and a ghastly smile
That was my baby; my baby Ismail.

Oh how was I to abandon him?
As vile as he may seem, I couldn’t toss him out on a mere whim!
A baby still was he
So from that day on stayed he with me.
As for my legs and feet
Apparently, he couldn’t find anything else to eat.

A regular carnivore was my Ismail
And I kept this a secret for a short while
But soon the neighbours started complaining
When their cats and dogs ran away from him wailing.
Babies went missing
And kittens ran past hissing.
Oh baby Ismail!
Why must you be so vile?

And then one night, without my knowledge
The neighbours decided to drug my porridge.
And into deep slumber they sent me away
To capture my Ismail, to deny him from seeing the light of day.

And in the morning when I finally awoke.
Not a sound did I hear; not a person spoke.
As I stepped out of my hut
The sight that was there before me, eviscerated me with a thud!
Blood and brains and intestines galore.
Of all kinds of people – from the rich to the poor.
All the people I grew up with, before me they lay
Slain by my Ismail, who crawled amidst them – healthy and gay!

Crying and sobbing I ran from that scene
But at last I had to stop, and against a pole I did lean.
God sent me the devil, the devil it seems.
What wrong have I done? Other than filch nickels and beans!
Sadly I returned home, to my humble quarters.
As I make my entry, he hears me and gladly totters.

I can’t slay thee oh son of Satan!
So calmly I smile at thee and say, “hush baby no more waitin’”
More blood loss, more damage, more destruction will come.
But I’ll stand by thee baby for I am your mum.

[Note to the general audience - The paintings that I have posted are not my own works of art. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The artists remain unknown to me. To whomsoever they may be - I salute you!]

How many times have I told you that I love you. How many times! You lied to me. You said you loved me. Do those words not mean anything to you? [Thump Thump] All those times that we talked late into the nights about our futures together, all those times we made love like we would never leave each other, every time I’d look at you when you were sleeping; dreaming about being with you till the end of time, all those times we went walking together holding hands..[Thump Thump] We had such a beautiful thing going on Julia. I really love you Julia, I really do. [Thump Thump]
___________________________________________________

I see her with him. Has she forgotten me? Are they sleeping together? Oh. She’s laughing. She’s laughing more with him than she did with me. I hate the stupid sod. I want to just slap that petty fucking smile off his face. The bastard must be fantasizing about her at night. Maybe I should go and ruin it for them, you know, say something like “Hi baby (kiss her) who’s this?” hahahahahah…

I first met her at the fair. I don’t know how but there was just something about her. Amidst those thousands of sickly sweet happy clown-like faces, just her face caught my attention. There’s nothing extraordinary about her. She was sitting there, glum and sullen, absent-mindedly pulling at her candy floss. At first glance, I saw a young girl, perhaps 20-21, thin, average height, short hair (like she’s cut it on her own), doped eyes, bags under her eyes, a bluish mark on her upper cheek (like a shiner fading away just to leave its memory behind). I go up to her but at the last minute I chicken out. So I sit down next to her.

“You got a smoke?” She’s talking to me. I’m shuffling around through my pockets, desperately searching for a smoke (where are those thin fucks when you need them the most???). “Nah it’s cool if you don’t have any on you, I’m off will buy myself a couple” All the while I haven’t said a word. She gets up. I look at her. She turns. “My name’s Julia” I smile. She smiles (a faint wisp of a smile) and then she’s gone.
___________________________________________________

She’s holding his hand. I’m gonna kill that fat fuck if it’s the last thing I do. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck now I’m getting all moody and shit. I mean if she doesn’t want to be with me how can I force her to? Right? That would just be like emotional rape or some shit like that? Right? But fuck I can’t see her with him. I want to beat his ugly smiling face into pulp. Hmmm.

She’s lying down beside me. I touch her thin body. She’s always been too thin. But I love her body. Every time I look at her, I just want to make love to her. She’s the most beautiful when she’s sitting next to me, naked, looking out the window with a cigarette in her hand, smoking, dreaming. “I love you Johnny, I can never love anyone else. I don’t know if you’ll ever believe me but I really really love you” And I loved her too. I still do. But I loved her so so so much. It hurts to think of it. Love can kill. Love can pain you even when you are the happiest. Bittersweet love. Fucking betraying love.

I was the happiest with her. Even in my sadness, I was the happiest with her. I never had anyone in my life. Only her. Julia. She once told me that I’m getting obsessed with her. But it was never obsession. It was never something as cheap as that. I’d dream about her, I’d wait to see her at the end of the day. I’d work harder for her, I’d buy her gifts just to see her smile, and I’d do anything for her.

She’s lying down beside me playing with my hair. “Johnny, how long do you think this will last? I want it to last forever Johnny. I’d do anything to be with you. Promise me you won’t ever leave me and go”
___________________________________________________

I don’t know what happened. Everything went blank and now I’m shaking. Where am I? Holy shit it’s the basement. What have I done? Jesus fucking Christ what have I done?
___________________________________________________

Hmmm. I killed the stupid bastard and I’m cool with that. But fuck why did I have to kill her too. Stupid me. Not going to happen again. Have to start taking my happy pills. This has happened too many times before. Lock the doors, draw the curtains – its time to bury flesh under the floorboards. Hahahaha. Fuck Johnny, you’re gonna have to skip town again you stupid bitch. Shhh stop talking to yourself. Fucking voices in my head.

[Thump Thump Thump]. Digging stops.

Pumpkin Pie

I fear I write in a singular style
So to break free I must push myself; go another mile.
This is a story of love I write
It has nothing to do with sex, drugs or plight.
A truer love story never will you behold
Between a girl and a pumpkin; I fear I’m being bold.

“Oh dear one, how can we go on this way?
To bide our time is what you always say!
But to be wed to you is my only wish
Lest you end up being my mother’s favourite dessert dish!”

“Oh fair maiden, with you there to protect me
I shall be safe and sound and make a grand entry
Into your beautiful house
As a son-in-law and spouse”

As the days passed by and the years skipped on
The girl grew weary and said to him one morn:

“Oh dear one, I heard talk over dinner
They need a pumpkin, with Halloween just around the corner!
And with you being the only pumpkin in the house
They have no choice but to carve you inside out.
This time I cannot save you dear one
By day break they will come for you and you shall be gone.”

So heartbroken was the pumpkin
I have no words to describe him
Enraged with his fate
So filled was he with hate

So come Halloween day
When everyone was trick or treatin’ and gay
And in the girls great manor
Was held an extravagant dinner
A seven course meal
Chicken, ham, pork and veal
A three-tiered cake for dessert
And a pumpkin (the pumpkin) carved with a pair of thick scissors.

As the guests waited for a slice of the cake
The lights dimmed out and the floor began to shake.
And in a voice that boomed like thunder
Spoke the pumpkin to rip hearts asunder

“Oh fair maiden, thou hast forsaken me!
I have now returned to exact my revenge; this you shall see!
Before the night is over you shall all be dead
And your bodies turned into statues made of concrete and lead!
In death you shall experience the most excruciating pain
All attempts to mollify me shall pass through in vain”

With a cackle and a hoot the pumpkin set himself on fire
His job was done; there was nothing left for him to desire.
In terror the guests made haste to get out
Just to find the doors locked with a padlock so stout
At the turn of the hour, as the clock struck twelve
The house shook with the screams of the guests and the tolling of the bell.

Come morning, in the manor, where silence prevailed.
One can still hear the silent cries of the young maiden; of pain unveiled…

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems.]

Dear Diary,

Dear Diary,

My daughter has a hidden life. The other day I saw her on the road, wearing this skimpy outfit, accepting money from a strange man. When I confronted her about it she gave me a weird look and walked out of the room.

Dear Diary,

My mother has a hidden life. The other day I met daddy on the road and he gave me some money to buy myself jeans. When I went back home, ma asked me who that man was. How can she not know her own husband?

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

The Melancholy Life of Winona Spyder

I write you a love letter. Every word that I write to you is like a needle embroidering my heart for the better.
I spill tears over my words. You know not how much my love for you burns; it hurts.
You came into my life at a time when I was in pain. At a time when looking at me was like looking at the Grim Reaper through the rain.
I beg you not to leave me dearest. It is with you that I see my life the way it ought to be; the clearest.

I spoke of you to my mother yesterday. You will not believe all that she had to say:
“Dearest Winona, you have not a thought for your mother. You sit about all day brooding about another!”
“You help me not in the kitchens. You waste your time playing with those heathens.”
“You have grieved me today child. What have I done to make you run amuck and so wild?”
“You will never be with him of that I am sure. Not only is he dumb and daft but he is also rather poor.”

Oh Charlie how her words shamed me to pieces. I had to slit her throat, cut her up and feed her to my nieces.
Charlie say you will be with me. Or else you will also end up like my mother, a part of history.
No say not you that I am threatening you. That I cannot do for I am hardly a Jew*.
I have had many hopes and dreams for our future together. So what if you happen to be my estranged brother?

This love letter I write for you dear Charlie. I have never loved like this before and I am waiting for the day when you will hold me.
These words they come straight from my heart. At first I did not know how to start.
But now these words they flow like a river. A ‘no’ from you will be in my heart a thorny sliver.
I wait for the day when you come to take me away. My feelings are so intense I think I shall soon swoon and sway.

This picture of you that I hold in my hands. It is adorned carefully by loving hands with beautiful garlands.
They say you died many years before. But I believe not in what they have to say for at the drop of a hat they could ruin my reputation; turn me into a whore.
Oh Charlie. Please come back to me.
I wait for you in the tower room. I wait for your light, but the darkness still seems to loom.
I don’t think I can last much longer. I am getting older, and not younger.

Steal away my pain my love. Make me not come to you with a handgun and a glove…


* Jews are still referred to as cunning, conniving, thieving, blackmailing scoundrels in some parts of the world.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems.]

Farah

I keep my feelings bottled up. I keep them to myself so I can go and explore them, experience them, gloat over them at a later period. My name is Farah. I have a problem. No one knows that I have a problem but I do. I was born in the year 1916 but have never really experienced what it is like to live with a family. My father was a bastard and my mother, well I don’t know who she was. My father died when I was 6 and I don’t know why.

The only thing that kept me going all my life was my little brother Farooq. He died. And, then I cried. And the tears never stopped streaming down. My whole life has been tear-filled. All my thoughts tear-filled. My hatred tear-filled. My joy tear-filled. I have rashes on my face from the constant flow of tears. All of this is of course in my head.

I tried to fall in love, not once but thrice. It didn’t work. Some say I am insane, some say I am weird and one said I wasn’t easy enough. All three are dead and I don’t know why. A detective came to question me the other day. Something to do with me being the common factor in all the death cases. He died the next day. May his good soul Rest In Peace.

I pretend to live in a world where I am exceptionally beautiful and I am exceptionally intelligent. I pretend to live in a world where I get all the attention. I pretend to be Marilyn Monroe (with brains). But in reality I am nothing. Just a tiny dot on the face of this earth. All my life has been a blur to me. I am now awaiting my death. Maybe in death my life will be more eventful. I once watched this movie that depicted death in colour and I thought to myself that is where I want to be.

Yesterday, I met a guy. Before the end of this year I know I will be married to him. Today, in the morning when I was browsing through the morning papers I saw an ad. I’m not ready yet to tell you what the ad was all about but you will know in due course.

I try to think back into my past but nothing seems of importance to me. So when I converse with strangers I create a fictional past. I tell them about my father being a Mughal emperor and having three wives and 60 concubines. They all seem to look at me in a weird way and they all move on. I have no friends and I don’t think I want any. I had one friend back in school. I can’t seem to remember her name. She died. And, I don’t know why.

My life has been a whirlwind of fake dreams and emotions. From one foster family to another, I moved all over the country. Each one betraying me, each one humiliating me. I had a father who brought me up for a short period as his sex slave. And then he died on top of me one day. I don’t know why.

I was in the news a couple of months back but I didn’t really care. I have better things to do. I have to go home and toast the bread and ‘butter my slice, anticlockwise’. I like music. It soothes my nerves. Makes me think of peaceful things like bells and crows, cemeteries and amputated toes. I write a lot these days. I know not what I write about but writing continuously is what I find myself doing after a long and stressful day.

My name is Farah. I have a problem. No one knows that I have a problem but I do. My problem is that I am not meant to be in this world. I am neither good nor evil. I am just me. I may do things that upset people, incite them, anger them or move them to tears but I mean no harm, as I don’t know what harm is. I am neither good nor bad for I believe these two words are man made. I believe that what I may deem as a good deed, others may look upon as bad. What difference does it make anyway? All I want is to find my way out of here…to a place far away from here…where I can rest my weary bones…

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Vincent

Vincent Malloy is seven years old,
He’s always polite and does what he’s told.

For a boy his age he’s considerate and nice,
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price.

He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cat,
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats.

There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented,
And wander dark hallways alone and tormented.

Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him,
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum.

He likes to experiment on his dog Abacrombie,
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie.

So he and his horrible zombie dog,
Could go searching for victims in the London fog.

His thoughts aren’t only of ghoulish crime,
He likes to paint and read to pass the time.

While other kids read books like Go Jane Go,
Vincent’s favorite author is Edgar Allen Poe.

One night while reading a gruesome tale,
He read a passage that made him turn pale.

Such horrible news he could not survive,
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive.

He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead,
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed.

His mother sent Vincent off to his room,
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom.

Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life,
Alone with a portrait of his beautiful wife.

While alone and insane, encased in his tomb,
Vincent’s mother suddenly burst into the room.

“If you want to you can go outside and play.
It’s sunny outside and a beautiful day.”

Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak,
The years of isolation had made him quite weak.

So he took out some paper, and scrawled with a pen,
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again.”

His mother said, “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead.
These games that you play are all in your head.

You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy.
You’re not tormented, you’re just a young boy.”

“You’re seven years old, and you’re my son,
I want you to get outside and have some real fun.”

Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall,
While Vincent backed slowly against the wall.

The room started to sway, to shiver and creak.
His horrid insanity had reached its peak.

He saw Abacrombie his zombie slave,
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave.

She spoke from her coffin, and made ghoulish demands.
While through cracking walls reached skeleton hands.

Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams,
Swept his mad laugh to terrified screams.
To escape the madness, he reached for the door,

So he and his horrible zombie dog,
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor.

His voice was soft and very slow,
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe,

“And my soul from out that shadow floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted –Nevermore!”

- Tim Burton

Booger Talk

1. Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend...
2. I get these sordid images of a pebble flying up from the road and slicing my eye into two, making half my eyeball pop out and fall with a wasted "plop" onto my cupped hands - everytime I sit behind someone on the bike!
3. I dream of death and fear and running away - where's the happiness in my life?
4. I know I'm very happy but I don't seem to feel it.
5. Drinking (water)(haha) makes me feel complete.
6. I sit here pretending to be deep in thought when I'm just actually forcing myself to think about something, ANYTHING!
7. I'm wet and cold. (That's also my nature).
8. I love my iPod.
9. It's not a habit it's cool, I feel alive. If you don't have it, you're on the other side..I'm not an addict baby...that's a lie.
10.Men piss me off. Men make me feel better about myself. I like men. But men piss me off.
11. From where I sit, it takes exactly 22 steps (small steps) to reach the cafetaria.
12. Fredrick was a young boy with a weird affliction called waxanges disease. He would bleed through the eyes and cry from his mouth.
13. The beautiful people..
14. If I were a spy, I'd be sitting at adlabs chewing on those beautiful nachos watching Dark Knight. That's why I'm not a spy.
15. Cry bitch cry!
16. I love wood furniture.
17. I want to throw up when I hear lame ass teeny boppers cackling away over some perverted sex joke that they just cracked, and that's probably from the 18th century.
18. Is it true that all of us have a heart each?
19. Is it true that we have feelings?
20. I want to chew on my nails all my life and then crush them to powder and sell them as cocaine to some ignorant little bastard with a runny nose.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

What have you done to God?

There's an everlasting God.
There's an everlasting fight for which God is the right God.
Would you even know if he walked beside you?
Would you worship him then?
What if he asked you for some money?
Would you fall at his feet worshipping him with bundles of notes?
Would you even care if he had to die bleeding?
Or would you edge away from him, careful not to let the blood spill onto your clothes?

What if he lived with you in your home?
What if he was your father?
The man you ignore...the man you ridicule...the man you ostracize
What if you hated him?
What if you were waiting for him to die so you can inherit the property?

What if you've hurt him every day of your life?
The same God that you pray to at night...
The same God that you ask for forgiveness...
The same God that you love..

Think about it...

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Note for the Day

For all the wanted as well as unwanted people who are reading my blog: "If you don't like the contents of my blog, then DON'T read my blog".

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Yes, Today is one of those hateful days...

Was speaking to someone who I barely know today and she made me realize that whether you are 17, 23 or 37, you're still the same, with regards to love.

Everyone wants the attention. Everyone wants the pampering. Everyone wants to feel desirable. Everyone wants the intimacy. Everyone wants the communication. And, everyone wants the security.

But does anyone actually want love? Do people actually love their lovers for what they are or is it because he/she just makes us feel special. Or perhaps we just love the person we become when we are supposedly in love. Or maybe we love to be in love. Or maybe there is love....who will ever know?

See, this is what I like about life. It's a set of unanswered questions. How boring would it be if we had the answer to everything? Even when you're on your deathbed, you'll still not be sure whether love exists or not.

We love the music (because it makes US feel different). We love the reading (because it takes US on a different trip). We love the dancing (because it makes US feel good and energetic). We love the meeting friends (because we can kill time and laugh). We love the drinks (because it makes US forget). We love our family (because they brought US up). We love the food (because it makes US feel good). It's always us, us, us...beautiful ain't it? Selfish assholes.

"Hello I'm asshole natasha and I want to fall in love because I dont want to be lonely any more". "Hello I'm asshole number 2 and I want to fall in love because I've heard that love is so beautiful and I also want to feel it". Fucking assholes.
"Hello I'm asshole number 3 and I'm so bored with my pathetic little meaningless and fucked up life so now I'm just looking for that love to spice up my life". Fucking assholes.

We got reality shows where stupid bitches participate to find the husbands of their dreams, matchmaking shows, shows where stupid fathers fall for their daughters, shows where dogs make love to their owners, shows where birds fall for beautiful women and follow them from country to country all in the name of love. Fucking assholes.

We got books where a handsome man meets a beautiful woman and they hate each other in the beginning only to fall for each other after the handsome man saves the woman's tight little arse from caving in when a maple tree falls on her. How sweet!

We got sickly sweet songs about love too! "I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh, I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away" (not to mention that he's probably going to be the one to give her all that pain in the first place and that in the years to come if she laughs too much, he'll probably get irritated with that as well!)awwww..."it must have been love but it's over now" (sob sob it's over!!! what do I do now?? who do I hang with and while away my time with???) ...awwww...fucking assholes..yeah thats all there is to it...fucking assholes taking over an asshole world...

"So if you want to love me
then darlin' don't refrain"
(but don't expect me to do the same)

Things I like (Part III)

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Things I like (Part II)

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Things I like (Part I)

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Natasha's one liners (#1)

You know your lonely when you're so used to being alone that its scary being with someone.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Another wisdom-packed conversation (seriously, why do these people encourage me?)

nayakpooja83: oh my poor cupcake
me: purrrr purrrr
nayakpooja83: (oh god, started again)
me: purrr purrr
nayakpooja83: here kitty
me: meeeoww?
nayakpooja83: lil kittchen
me: purrr purrr
nayakpooja83: baby pooooccchhhy cat
me: pppppuuuurrrrraaaaaaaooooo
ppuuurrrr

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]