This city is dead to me

It died, panting for air

And searching for love long ago in adolescent dreams

Its inhabitants are like zombies

Nothing will stop them from feeding on their own addictions

Vomiting whiskey flavored validation

Gnawing at the genitals of their most recent victims…

Within every shadow sits a child

Cowering in fear

At the tip of every shadow

Stands a victim

Masochistic suicide

With preluding daily devoted masturbation

It exorcises the mind

Keeps blood flowing…

My thoughts are limitless

But my words, limited to pen and paper

Or the tapping of letters on a keyboard

Going blind to the flickering screen of a monitor…

But this is my asylum

A Place of solemn sanctuary …

I find it slightly more amusing than pounding pavement

Even though my knees bleed from scraping by


Sluggishly through this afternoon cadence

And still I keep my distance

More so out of fear than hate

I’m dying, more from my own poisons than from the vile I’ve been ignorantly pointing my finger at…

I keep lapping at the blood of my wounds

Addicted to the taste

Becoming numb to the pain

Becoming one with the infection

Like making love to your murderer…

Its all animalistic in the end

Then again, we are all just mammals

Warm blooded and defected with weakness

At times cannibalistic

Eating away at ourselves

Jagged teeth tearing through epidermis and jerking away at Rubbermaid muscle tissue

Until there’s nothing left

Until we are just another victim..

Made either by our own hands

Or the murderous affairs of lovers in stagnant corners of basements..




Black Sheep

I look around and realize I’m surrounded by anomalies…  an orgy of uniforms and collected conformist in denial of their true form. I admire how they grope each other, stimulating a blood rushing erection of hypocrisy. Their voices loud and well heard, their protests bright and colorful…fuck the man!  They say. Fuck the man and his machine of oppression; they scream in between solid puffs of name brand cancer. Look how the skin of their fingers shrivels from the beading condensation of a beer can. I’ve watched them throw themselves into drunken trances congregating in social ranks, spewing judgment, finger painting their names in the blood of most recent back stabbings.

Antisocial you say? You are nothing but a character in a play, teetering on an axis summited by mainstream theology. Go ahead, take another swig of your cheap beer and burn the label black sheep upon your chest. It’s the joke that makes up your physic; it’s the skin that sags along your week and brittle bone structure. It’s the lie you fuck every night before falling asleep next to your one night stand and snuffed out cigarette butts that float in the monkey piss of semi empty forty bottles.

You see, I am that black sheep you so long to be, I’ve learned to take comfort in the icy shadows bouncing off the cold shoulder of society. I am that antisocial fuck lingering on the outskirts of the inside. I have no real interest in your thoughts, opinions and mortal day to day judgment. I stray from your hang out spots and avoid the hipsters in black sheep’s clothing that I’ve found you to be.

Lullaby for a Lost Soul has been released!!

Well it’s finally finished…. At least the first installment is. “Lullaby for a Lost Soul” has now been self-published. As I mentioned it’s the first installment to a series of short stories I will be doing called: “Shadows beneath the Street Lamp.” Every story will be dark and will take place somewhere in Norfolk. I’ve been working on the second installment but I’ve just been so damn busy with school work, writing things I really don’t want to write, I barley have time to work on it. That’s part of the reason it took me so long to get this one out.

Please click the link and download it, it’s absolutely free and you can always read it in your spare time. Or instead of checking your face book news feeds while you’re taking a shit, you can read a story. That way, even if you don’t like it, you were stuck on the shitter anyways and never wasted bit of time.



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.

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..