Welcome to hate book

Home of the fake book

Desperate for love book

Don’t pick on me book

Attack back on you book

Yelling in caps book

Fake news abound book

Look what I found book

Free page bully book

Sign the petition book

Better think like me book

That girl is ugly book

I matter more book

Everyone’s sore book

Submit a complaint book

Ignoring your kids book

Posing like porn book

Drama down the page book

Seeking attention book

Slurs all around book

No one is safe book

Spreading the fear book

I’m always right book

Everyone fights book

No more just life book

Cuts like a knife book

Race to the top book

More likes than you book

Clicking a virus book

Chain letters sent book

Secret message book

Easy to cheat book

Half naked friends book

Ignorant jokes book

Meme maker pro book

Political sides book

Disasters to watch book

Death we can share book

Rumors supply book

Watch me get high book

Everything’s live book

But we’re dead inside book

Log in to beat book

Putting you down book

Clowns all around book

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I met a man in the mountains but he didn't meet me.

He sang a song and faded away.

Shining instrument and shining voice, he strummed and spoke the tears from my eyes.

He whispered of love and longing and the hope of return.

Then cried of bayonets and cigarettes and the endless battle.

A smattering of words clung to me like stars for me to gaze.

And the ones I can't recall are too far above for me to see.

But every so often,

Just once in a while,

I can still hear him singing,

Darling,

Don't you cry for me.

For when this war is over,

I swear that I'll buy you a diamond ring.

Possibility.

One word, a fragment of a thought, that manages to carry hope.

And I guess the problem with it is that it, even with its inherent fragility, bears a lot of responsibility at the same time.

I think that's the beauty of it, too.

Whatever you want in this world, you can have it. 

See? That's the hope, the optimism.

But the catch is the can.

Because you have to have the will to execute.

Realize it - that's the responsibility, the charge.

It's a balance.

Between your passion, the driving force, and chance you won't be strong enough.

Possibility's a fight.

But I like to think of it as the good fight, this thought of mine.

The only one worth joining in.

I was fifteen, it was me, eleven older guys, and the van we so aptly dubbed as The Mystery Machine. Misfits, the dozen of us. We found solace in each other's company, and needless to say that The Mystery Machine was our home away from home. It was a place we felt free to say what we wanted to say, a place secrets were kept, a place we felt safe, it was our safe haven. We twelve lost souls faded into the night, and by three a.m. hazel eyes started driving everyone home. He drove me home last because I lived the farthest from Elysian Park. He turned off the van when we pulled up to my apartment. I could have invited him up, we could have finished the bottle of bourbon I opened up the night before, but I was scared, and even more scared of him leaving me there alone in the morning. I didn't even have to say it... He understood that. He could sense my uneasiness, so he went for my weakness and started tickling me. He grabbed my hand, led me to the back of the van, and pulled me in close. He let me rest there in the safety of his arms for what seemed like an eternity. He was so still, that after a while, I thought he'd fallen asleep. Then all of a sudden he pulled me in for a kiss while his hands made their way up my dress. He knew I was a virgin, and he promised to take things slow. He knew exactly what I needed. He knew that I needed to be loved. And in that moment when we were together as one, I was loved, I was safe, I was his, and all else was forgotten... Even if for only a night. Six years later, and here I sit writing this at a carwash, and there's a song playing in the background that reminds me of him, of us, of the rebel fifteen year old girl that I was. I'm transported back in time, and I'm wondering if he still owns our home away from home... Here's to The Mystery Machine, and all the memories it holds.

we can build a fire,

and listen to songs

about all the things

we almost had,

but still miss,

then we'll make a toast

to the words

floating just out of reach,

whiskey on ice

and the bitter taste

of reality,

and we'll smile when we see

that none of us are

drinking alone tonight,

that none of us are.

alone.

all missing the same things

in different ways,

finding solace in the laughter,

maybe a few tears before dawn,

and words that taste like blood

as they leave us,

that look like love,

another round for all of us

still pretending to be whole,

still drinking slow enough

to greet the sun.

Knitted together

by light of the moon,

my eyes strained

to reach your soul,

two magnetized spirits

drawn together

forming one mind

in deep purple shadows.

I laid my hands

upon your heart

to grasp the light,

ignited in flames,

overcome by awareness

we had been soulmates

since beginning of time.

Steaminess was drawn

from our core as

love unfolded like

thawing ice pressed

between pages of books.

Scent of you clung

to my skin as

we pulsed in the joy

of blue sapphire night.

Hearts tied together

in cottony cloud,

stitched in sync

with euphony of love,

destined to meet.

Nobody cares that

We all bleed the same,

Too worried about labels to know each other's names

Always focused on creating more pain, looking 

At all times for somebody to blame,

Morals degrade, no one cares to maintain

So much easier just to replace and obtain,

This world we live in just isn't humane!

How selfish are we to profit and gain

From a country divided from myriad claims,

Only a matter of time before we 

Go up in flames,

Broken links that were once a great chain,

Weak because we couldn't stand up

To the strain,

In the end it won't matter exactly who gets framed,

Unrecognizable and covered in shame,

People mundane, evolved to profane,

Each and every one of us certifiably insane,

Crawling amongst the ruin of lives we've maimed,

In this world the only thing that could 

Ever remain

Is the very thing that runs through our veins

All it will take is the courage to refrain,

Doesn't anybody realize that this 

Isn't a game?

Nothing comes close

to the skin she wears.

hatred knitted into

fibers of her bones.

stolen soul, and hidden,

deep, within evil dreams ...

no yesterday's lift her head.

blood washing down drains,

with secrets to keep,

and a gullet full of whiskey to 'mend' ...

How about,

Fuck you.

yes, hatred is real.

Hatred is felt.

Hatred is lived.

Hatred is betrayal.

Hatred kills and

sends unwanted souls to hell.

pain is only but a scar,

it scabs, it heals

and you move the fuck on.

Hatred is forever ...

It's what you hog tie

as you beat it

like a piñata,

laughing in the face of weakness,

squealing in fear,

giving a half assed attempt for forgiveness.

but the damage has already been done ...