Religion is

Written and verbal 

ABUSE!

A way to make you fear

Everyday life

To keep your mind

In CHECKMATE!

A disturbing way to live

Without peace 

In your own mind

A lack of security 

Within your soul

Insecure feelings of

What if?

What if?

What if i'm not

Doing this right

God will punish me

Don't punish yourself

Over words

Of blackmail

K.j.a. (c) 2017

I’m getting antsy. Because I haven’t killed anyone since last Friday, my need for power and dominance is building up to a crescendo. I get in my car; well, actually it is my former girlfriend’s car but she is already dead. To make a long story short, she was Friday. I always labeled my victims by the day of the week that they met their end. The moon is behind dark clouds as I peer through the dead of night to find my next victim. I am excited and quite titillated when I see a young woman at the side of the road looking in frustration at her flat tire.

Her leather mini skirt is hiked up to spotlight her rounded ass as she bends over the tire. But it doesn’t really matter what a woman looks like because it’s feeling control that turns me on and the rest doesn’t really concern me. I am superior and I will show her how to tremble and fear me until the last drop of her blood has leaked out onto the ground. I shiver in anticipation as I pull to a stop behind her and get out of my car. “Do you need help, I ask?”

With a helpless smile on her face, she simpers, “I can’t get the lug nuts to loosen. Would you mind trying?”

She hands me a flashlight and I get down on my haunches to take a look. I turn back to reassure her that I will be able to take care of it and I can see right up her skirt. She’s not wearing panties. This is really going to be an exciting evening. I turn back to her car and she says in her sweet voice, “Here’s a lug wrench that you can use.” That is the last thing I ever know as she smashes the wrench down on my head so forcefully that pieces of bone and brain matter spray in a pink misted arc.

I am now somewhere up above, looking down at the bloody scene and can see a big smile turning up the corners of her lush mouth as she says, “He is Monday!”

Mr Portmanteau carried too much baggage,

bags and suitcases he wanted no longer,

sins and wicked deeds spilling out on the floor.

Wore striped suit in jail for Californication

because of his great love for sexercise.

Guzzled tall mixed drinks of scotchka,

suffered in winter from chilling affluenza.

Wanted bromance from his very best friend,

lost his Volvo to a friendly carjacker

people he knew were all his frenemies

wearing clothes made of plush pleather.

Holed up in his house for staycations,

fancied himself as a workaholic but

found guilty once again of spamforgery.

Just couldn’t get rid of his baggage!

port•man•teau Definition

ˌpôrtˈmantō/

noun

1.

a large trunk or suitcase, typically made of stiff leather and opening into two equal parts.

2.

a word blending the sounds and combining the meanings of two others, for example motel (from ‘motor’ and ‘hotel’) or brunch (from ‘breakfast’ and ‘lunch’).

Trials of The Gunfighter

The heavy wings of the black birds beat at the air angrily as they took flight, looking back at the scene below, watching it unfold. The Gunfighter spun this way and that, pointing his pistol at seemingly nothing as the vicious swirls of dust tore at his flesh, threatening to pry out his eyes. In vain, he fired his gun several times, wildly scarring the desert with pockmarks. In a final frustration, he threw down his gun, clenched his fists and screamed "Enough!!!"

Everything just outside of arms reach of him seemed to pulse from emotion as a violent, pale blue light burst out of his very body. The earth itself jumped, belching sand and dirt in its sudden spasm. The two swirling clouds of dust collapsed in on themselves, as a black smoke wisped from their polar ends, the remains of their sandy corpses raining to the ground.

His knees buckling, Jack knelt to the ground, looking up to the small flock that was gently floating away. "What was that?" He hoarsely yelled. The ravens, never responding, only looked back as they flew off toward the hillside.