Hey!!

I ve been working on a short story called “Lullaby for a Lost Soul”, and I hope to have it finished and self published in the next week or so. It will be my very first piece of self published work, so I’ve been working really hard on it and I’m a little nervous about it but I hope all of you will check it out. Maybe stop by and tell me what you think or give me some constructed criticism.

Thanks again to all of you who stop by and read or follow my blog. All of you keep up the good work and keep writing.

Derek Ardita

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From the altars of the wicked flows the blood of mankind…

Genetically created generational curses…

We bare the sins of our fathers and feed our hunger with the impurities of our mother’s bosoms

Lapping mouthfuls of human filth…

Let us kneel at the river of genocide slitting each other’s throats, let us kiss and bleed out into its current…

Let this cleanse us,

Dear lord let this cleanse us…

Let us caress our deformities…

Let us fondle and fuck our weaknesses to sleep…

We will embrace our normality; we will leave our ambitions to the decisions of a firing squad…

And so we will dance in a holocaust, digging the mass graves for the corpses of self-identity.

It Ends In Irony…

Sometimes it seems like I am a ghost

Just a vague being.. … a nameless face walking along the border of a black iron fence of a graveyard.

I look out to see the sun set… its light tinted with orange, bathing the tops of cold headstones..

Short summaries chiseled upon them..  a life time fit into a few words..

Your beginning..

Your highest accomplishments.. war hero, purple hearts, loving mothers, fathers, or just being born…

Then your end..

I walk through the endless rows of graves, the grass is thick like carpet and cushions the souls of my shoes..

I can’t help but feel a connection to the dead while reading the last words left to describe them to the world ….  Proof they were here and existed

I begin to create visions of who they were, what they looked like, how it felt to know them..

Suddenly I find myself making judgments of them, people I never knew… People from totally different generations..

I then came to the realization of the irony in death

You could go your whole life, not catching a single eye… being a nameless face.. Being a ghost…

And only when death takes you .. People realize you were there.. You existed… they paint a name on your face ..

Only when you become a ghost.. You become real to people… You finally become someone, for some reason, people want to connect to…

For You Old Friend..

My soul has been set ablaze by your tragedy,

The ambers glow bright red like a thousand eyes of demons staring back at me …

I strive to become your catalyst, but I fumble through empty rants only handing over fistfuls of broken advice

I stand against the blowing wind, watching you bleed through tourniquets of rusty chain links..

The warm blood rushes towards the frozen ground.. Melting the spot where you buried your heart deep within the confines of gritty soil

When you are ready.. I will help you dig…

When you are ready.. I will help you bury the past, as you have helped me bury mine…

I embrace you as a brother, bearing an oath that is made in the corners of tree houses or midnight adolescent adventures…

Promises made under black night skies, in empty streets…. sealed with concrete corners of a neighborhood…

You now stumble along in feverish grief…

When you are ready… I will help carry your weight, as you have helped me carry mine

When you are ready … I will help you dig..

For I count you among my beloved,

For I count you among my brothers..

The Common Struggle…

An empty heart leads to a murderous hand…

Their fingertips drip blood like leaky faucets,

They strap on their suits, ties fastened tight upon the collar,

to negotiate the sins a whipping boy will take stripes for….

Our pain is of no concern,

They laugh in between stiff sips of expensive liquors, scribbling big words with cheap pens, exchanging cheap smiles.

The business man makes his move and kills yet another pawn…

Another life wasted, just a common man with common debts,

Common bills stack on a corner of a shelf, screaming to be paid…

They’ll surely starve a while more.. for there are belly’s aching to be filled..

Nothing left but common tears to cry, from common women, with common children,

All while they go to uncommon parties and somehow, fuck uncommon whores, drink uncommon wine-own uncommon bank accounts

They fight uncommon wars using common lives.. They continue to dance on uncommon floors built on the shoulders of the common man…

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My brain seems to be misfiring, false engine lights blink up and down my spine.

Pores that sweat panic attacks…

I swerve through blurred vision, taking deep breathes

A desperate attempt to see clear…

My mind focuses on flesh and bone, its fragile structure is sculpted to one day dissolve.

My eyes scrape the murky soil that dines upon the left overs of life….

The first breathe of birth

The last gasp of death

The cycle repeats and echoes through my head laboriously

The body..

The vessel of the soul…

If I think about my involuntary movements, will they suddenly become voluntary?

A beating heart deep within the cavity of my chest..

Will it stop if I lose my will?

All my fears collide like a train wreck

No survivors…. its compartments reek of horror and death

My dreams are tortured with visions of babies in meth labs…

The filth of this world seems to stick to me like the smell of soot from destructive fires that burn within the security of our homes and tarnish the warmth of our beds..

All this wanders through my head as I drive in my car….

I continue to blame it on my eye sight as I take another deep breathe to regain clarity once more.

Reflections…

A reflection stares back at me from the mirror of my mind,

Gleaming, shattered shards of glass

Neurological pressure points and path ways twisting and bending rays of light,

Distorted conceptions….

Like an image in the water, dispersed into a million ripples

Never ending tiny waves within waves,

Like how the world sees us,

Thousands of optical tunnels leading to tiny waves of electrical pulses,

Sporadic stored judgment,

This is a failure with in us all…

Programmed from birth,

We believe the lies depicted from the mirrors of the world,

And sometimes….. The lies that glare from within ourselves…