What left is there for me to do?

And now, the end is near, all the years I have worked, all the plans I have made, doesn’t mean anything any longer.

So, I face the final curtain before all goes dark around me. And in the last moments my friends, I’ll say it clear, that you full well understand, so that before you, you will know I’ll state my case of which I’m certain.

Yet, for all that I have done, there is but one thing I have lacked, one thing I have longed for, and it has been within my grasp, only to slip away like a feather blown away in the breeze.

I’ve lived a life that’s full, yet my heart and soul remains empty. I have traveled the world ten times over, traveled each and every highway, yet she alludes me like a filmy ghost staring back at me through a mirror, but one thing you or anyone else cannot say is wrong; I did it my way.

We both know I’m not perfect, but then, who is? I have regrets, but then, too few to mention. After all, now doesn’t seem to be the time to really look back and make any amends.

Throughout my life, I did what I had to do. In the beginning it was just to keep from drowning. but as time traveled, I realized I saw it through without exemption.

It was then, when I was finally within reach of all my plans and goals, where I planned each charted course, being smart enough, not to waiver or fold for fear of failure, but rather take the time to take each careful step along the byway, and more, much more than this, no one will ever be able to say, I didn’t do it my way.

Now, in these final hours or perhaps minutes ... yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew what was going on inside me, but you never questioned my motives. Especially when I bit off more than I could chew. You would just stand off to the side, nodding your head when I gave you something to do and you went on about the business at hand.

But through it all when there was doubt, I never relented, did I? I never backed off or down. I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all in my life and still managed to come out on top because I stood tall in the face of what I was up against.

I have pretty much run the gauntlet in life. After all, I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried, but when she went away, I vowed I had had enough. I’ve had my fill, my share of losing, and swore I would never let love invade my being ever again. Once was more than enough for me.

Yet, even after what, almost fifty years? If she were to walk back into my arms, I wouldn’t say a word. And yes, I would take her back that quickly for I never stopped loving her.

Still, as tears subside, in a small sense, I find it all so amusing because, just imagine it if you will. With all I have accomplished in life; to think, I did all that, without hesitation. Oh no, oh no, not me because I vowed a long time ago, I would do things my way.

Now, I am here in my last moments of life, and I ponder life’s big prank on me, for what is a man, what has he got to show for all he has done, knowing when the light goes dark one last time, you become nothing more than a memory.

Let’s face it, if not himself, then he has naught and perhaps that is the last deciding factor before life is snubbed out.

To say the things he truly feels, whether believed or not, but know these words are not from one who kneels. I have been knocked around and knocked down until it came my turn. When it did, suddenly the world changed for me. For the records shows, I took the blows and yet, I did it my way.

Your last official act is to follow the directions in the envelope and make absolutely certain everything written is followed to the letter. You must find her for me. Tell her I am sorry. And that all I have remaining, is hers.

It is my way of saying ... each heart beat I have, beats for no one but her.

Now go. I need to close my eyes and sleep, perhaps for the last time.

In the beginning there was nothing but darkness. An endless empty sea was all that existed until—there was light. It came from the center of the universe and was emanating from a being known as the original God. After coming into existence, they created 6 gods. Each was responsible for the creation and destruction of the main building blocks of the universe—Matter, Time, Life, Void, Entropy, and Death. These gods were responsible for keeping the balance between chaos and order.

Over the course of time, they started to build the universe bit by bit. The god of matter created the stars and planets of the universe; The god of time made them move and interact with space; The god of life created living beings to occupy those planets; The god of void destroyed the stars when they finally went out and subsequently the planets; The god of entropy corrected any deviation in the timeline to keep it from diverging; and The god of death was responsible for the demise of living beings.

The god of life was worried that life wasn’t going to be able to thrive in this universe. To maximize the prosperity of life, the gods all decided to consolidate life on one planet. They called this planet “Gaia”. The god of matter created the land and oceans. The god of life created all of the living beings that will inhabit it and the god of death, in collaboration with the god of life created the underworld outside the realm of space and time to house the souls of the dead.

This planet was inhabited by 5 nations—Nattur, Easifatan, Doxatos, Ferrum, and Kyokuchi. These kingdoms went about each of their ways of life. But, all of that was about to change. The gods of destruction and creation suddenly went into conflict. The cause of this conflict is yet to be known, but whatever it was, it caused a series of events that was about to disrupt the natural order of Gaia. The gods of destruction sent down manifestations of their divine power—known as avatars—in order to shift the balance of order and chaos. In response, the gods of creations did the same. Evidently, this story would be about the clash between these two forces.

I learned the horrors of prescience at the very moment I discovered I was gifted with it.

She was a childhood friend, a year younger. There happened to be a pause in our rambunctious play, a pause just long enough, and our play just close enough, that we accidentally found ourselves looking into one another’s eyes. Being children, the staring itself became the game; exploring each other’s souls inside them, daring ourselves to venture deeper while at the same time being revealed. We passed that point where one laughs to hide their discomfort, or looks away, and we continued even longer, her winded breath so close that I could feel it on my chin, and on my moistened lips. It was then that I saw who she really and truly was, and she me. And it was then that I knew.

“You are going to die.” I whispered.

“I know.”

“What will you do?”

She answered the only way a child could answer when the question is so fearsome as death. “Hide.”

When I left her that day I never saw my childhood friend again.

“Robert?” My mother called from the foyer. “Alicia’s parents can’t find her. Do you know where she is?”

“No Momma,” I lied.

But it did find her, even where we had so carefully hidden her; inside that big old trunk down in her basement, covered between the musty old clothes and things, the heavy cedar top closed and latched.

There’d been death in my friend’s eyes that day. There is no hiding from that.

Sunday morn, skies that mourned,

wrinkled blankets, undone laundry,

notes that piled, lectures paused,

plates and bowls, last night meals.

Seasons changes, fall and rains,

falling apart, piece by piece.

Save me, please, screamed to the skies,

begged and hurt, lone in a crowd.

Deep inside, something changed,

life felt different, so did I.

What once was, what now is,

what would be, all blurred in one.

Barely human, days all same,

can't be machine, feelings clawed.

Bewitched in a maze, no way out,

dark that stayed, lights that frayed.

Would I leave, this game of hurt,

or would I stay, forever and frail?

Shall I try, when all things fail,

or just let go, as fate may plead?

But I will wake, to another day,

for dawn may break, and the sun may rise,

birds may sing, and the rains may pour,

nights may fall, and the cold may creep.

I will wake to another day.

Obsessed with nothing

Stumbling endlessly on a loop

Feelings are numbing

Unable to find a troop

Eyes travel with nowhere to land

Heart stays out of it, indifferent to plans

Feet remain fixed, awaiting command

A better version of me

That knows what he wants

The ideal me

A vision that haunts

Alone on the sea

Adrift,

as a dilettante

In the hands of abuse,

chained to a lifetime of suffering.

For you to feel power & a temporary ego boost.

Imprisoned in what is now my private fucking hell—

each brick you used, my pain produced.

The horrid things that you did, left me forever changed & bruised.

There’s no breaking away when my mind is a prison, no matter how many screws I loose.

Fallen to the ground, begging the devil, god—

I don’t care who, praying & crying for karma to hand you a personal noose.

Flashbacks of your actions that I drown in—

of the physical, sexual, emotional, & mental abuse.

I would sell my damn soul just to have this torture taken from me & given to you.

i can't afford

a private hell.

my hell is

a public bathroom

with no locks

where travelers come and go:

i smear my shit on the walls,

like letters on a computer screen

hoping to deter them

but it only seems to attract more

like flies.

they gawk at

my display,

some even call it art,

as i smear my innards on the walls.

i can't help it;

my innermost thoughts must always be

thrust out

like vomit

after a long night

even when they'd be better left

unwritten.

my mind, like my body,

must shed its waste,

but it is not flushed so easily

down the toilet.

my pipes

are clogged,

choking on filth.

trash

with nowhere to go

simply makes its home

wherever it is convenient:

collecting

in frantic internet posts

that are quickly buried,

filling the gaps in my brain

until it begins to rot,

eating away my memories,

just to sustain its malformed flesh.

i can't afford

a private hell.

mine is a public bathroom,

where everyone comes

to dump their waste,

here and then gone.

yet i remain:

i haven't finished

dumping my load yet.

I woke up like I always do

shifted over from my peaceful dream

of dry sand rhythmically taping my body.

I woke up like I always do

ready to cover my ears at any moment

announcing my arrival

hoping to ease the tension in the air

I woke up like I always do

hoping for silence,

for peace

but not today sadly.

Let's wait for next one.

My hell is here

In my canvas, my tablet or the pencil in my ear

The divine torture is not fake but true

In the brain I have with all I feel and all that I knew

My hell brings myself teardrops in the form of paint

In the form of words that figuratively show the worth I have I will taint

But in reality, my hell is in the hand of myself, who holds the pencils and paint

Who does not deal with it, but suffers through and creates as a weak attempt to spite the pain

Even w hen my mind and body begin to disdain

I do not listen, dragging myself in a gluttonous hell that I myself have made

Quite inadvertently, you see,

I put the chicken bones in my tea.

And later, when I’d lost all that I’d known,

I found them lying on my phone.

The bones and marrow, straight and narrow,

caught in my craw until I saw

that I couldn’t help but dwell in hell

as far and wide as I could smell.

She’d been my lady and always cooked

with chicken until I got hooked.

And now I really, really miss her

and dream that, as I try to kiss her,

the goddess of my destiny

will finally come right back to me.

But the chicken bones have turned to stone

and, woe is me, I’m all alone.