She was always alone.
Some wolves were born with their wolf packs.
But she was a lone wolf.
A cub that was apart from her pack.
But she was always the fiercest one.
I remember my life as the loner, but as I grew older, my fangs grew and I forgot how to be vulnerable.
Although I am alone, I appreciate the silence because you were another lone wolf too.
I told my therapist about you.
The way you put color into my world,
The way you talk your nonsense as if it were the end of my world because of you.
The way you right your wrongs,
The way you love me.
I’m willing to take you into my life darling,
Because I love you
and the only time you’ll ever stop loving me is if I had told you I didn’t love you.
But hadn’t I loved you so far?
you know you love me.
You know you still do
And you know I will never lie to you.
You know I know how to love and cherish you and I will do so in my power to steer you in the right ways possible.
And I do this and tell you from my heart, I do these things, I go through tough shit because I love. You.
And you cannot simply tell me you don’t love me back.
He loves me.
I remind him of a September morning,
Fireworks in unrequited occasions especially in June,
And of flowers during the Summertime.
He is my reason for living…..
He thinks of me, dreams of me, and calls out my name sometimes in the night.
He loves me and not you.
He calls me beautiful and makes me feel like I’m his only girl.
He says he cannot live without me. That I am the girl he cannot live without.
He says he loves me inside and out.
That’s how I know that he loves me.
But there is a secret he keeps that he will not tell anybody.
He wants to drown in me and he doesn’t know that I would be more obliged to drown in him too.
He doesn’t know that I write about him.
He doesn’t know that I cannot live without him.
That he’s beautiful and maybe in some small piece of perspective, I know he still loves me enough to turn a candle into a flame.
He loves me as though I am pure.
That is how I know he still loves me, and I am the luckiest girl in the world.
With sheer luck, I can only glimpse at him from my memory and sometimes out of the corners of my eyes.
His hair is as black as midnight and his eyes reflect the starry skies.
His pupils are as the blackest orbs and he smells like fresh rosemary and thyme.
His mouth tastes of basil and he looks on with the horizon in his eyes and in his thoughts.
Without him, I look out into the starry universe and i feel like flying.
You love, are in my heart with your sweet light fair skin with sweat that smells and tastes like fresh Spring.
You are the whole of my heart.
Entrapped in my mind and constantly loving me.
Like a constant lover.
There comes a time in every child’s life where the world lies solemnly still and the world they begin to realize, is full of starlight and their future full of unfulfilled dreams.
There comes a time in a young man’s life where the feeling of euphoria and the way of being that becomes a way of life subsides with his thoughts. It’s a transcendental way of daydreaming where a man feels subliminal and doesn’t want to think but not to the point where he becomes experimental. It is to the point where he becomes to an extent, decently, deceptively mad. It is subliminal whether he chooses to stay that way becoming more philosophical and more emotionally inclined to love. There is no feeling but the sound of the chirping of birds, and the way of life in the way that he chooses.
There comes a time in every man’s life where ambition becomes replaced with melancholic fear, but little does he know that that is when life happens.
“I’ve always wanted my kids to grow into fine young ladies and handsome young gentlemen who succeeded in life by pacing themselves while I, being a supportive mother would support them throughout the rest of their lives. The only time where they’d be disappointing is if they had done harm to other persons. I know there will be hard times but that’s when the support comes in. That’s when I know it’s not time to be an advocate but time to be involved in their lives; to be a mother.”
You’re the very vein to my heart. Just as you’re the very thought that comes out of my mind the first time I awake in the next wee minutes of the day.
State the obvious,
Once a murderer always a murderer.
You cannot change the past as you watch in silence
Fearing the dread of your own company.
You take the gun and you stop the panicking
Now all you have to do is shoot all you love and ruin a whole world of innocent hearts.
Break the views and the world that they enshrined you in as their god.
Make them love you and murder the world they put you in and murder a heart.
The truth prevails thus,
You just had a rock n’ roll heart and the soul of a punk rocker
And you couldn’t
Stand
Me.
I dare confess things that I dare not confess to myself and I dare to dream dreams I dare not dream of.
I dare not confess that I love you and I dare dream that you’ll come up to my doorstep and open the door to my heart.
I also dare not confess that I love you and these confessions I may have to keep to myself or may I sojourn myself of the embarrassment.
I also dare not confess this to you; that I dare dream dreams about you and me together in the dark of the night.
I still think of you when I go to sleep at night,
and sometimes when I am gazing into the distance,
I think of you during the day.
Even when there is no one there to comfort me,
I’ll still have you….
Even at the end of the day,
at least my dreams will be only about you….
He charms me with his voice as he croons like an angel. My darling; a storm is brewing and you are a hurricane. The sound of your voice is the reason I am living. Your life is a canvas I wanna paint on. Because you. You make up mine. I dream of you in visions that exceed the bottom of the deepest trench. I dream of you farthest from the sea lying across the largest bodies of water. I dream of you unfathomable of the whole existence of the consciousness of your mind; also unfathomable of the existence of theis whole universe composed of a kaleidescopic body of constellations all the way to unborn stars. I dream of you that way, and when I wake up to see the sun I daydream about having you beside me.
I bet they know. I bet they know you smell like pina coladas and that you cry in your sleep at night and that you have a high tolerance for pain. I bet they know that you endured the pain the past had put you throughout the years and that you have cried a thousand times searching for an answer or simply some angel to pick you up and catch you when you fall. Well guess what? I hope right now you are dreaming and I hope you’re doing what heaven had intended of you. Because the people who left you hope you do that too. There’s a lot of things I tend to know and knew about him. It was the fact that he loves me. He was more than just my friend….
If I wasn’t so horrible at love, I’d probably long to kiss you and hold you close. I think if I could love you like that everything will be okay and you and I will go out the same way and live our separate lives. Embers die love. So will yours. Bless whoever fixes and mends you and wants to love your heart. Truth is, you were always too good for me.
There’s something about the color of the skies that remind me of you.
It’s like little stars in the night sky pretty much like your twinkling eyes.
It’s like the clouds in the skies that move in the same direction.
I cannot give them to you like the moon and the sun,
But I can only give it to you in writing.
Even though we’re not in love,
I still write about you….
because when I’m with you,
I feel like I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
Now listen,
I may not be good at stringing words together,
I may not be that much of a writer,
I may not be much of anything,
I may not know much,
I may not be good in college or I may be bad philosophically,
And you may not love me
But I do know this,
at least I know I love you and I still will.
You could see fire erupting in his eyes.
It was for all the times he wanted her
But never had the chance to help himself to her.
Finally, a roaring flame erupted where his heart was.
He had finally had her.
The same fire had erupted in her the moment his gaze left her hair as her head turned to face him.
Every secret smile she ever had for him evolved into something deeper into his abysmal world.
There they were gazing at each other bursting into flames.
The two had become intertwined in each other
But both of them never knew how much they felt for each other.
He was the punk.
She, his ballerina.
AN INTRODUCTION TO SEX AND/OR MR. MORISSON & THE SEQUEL
“Sex and/or Mr. Morisson” is about a woman who is completely infatuated with her neighbor upstairs. The story takes place in a two story apartment where the woman is living downstairs and is infatuated by her upstairs neighbor Mr.Morisson in a very peculiar fashion. During the short story, “Sex and/or Mr. Morisson,” the downstairs neighbor is highly infatuated with her highly obese upstairs neighbor who is stalked by her knowing that she seems to know every move he makes in the apartment and takes a peek at him while he is undressed along the way towards the end. It seems ordinary for the woman to be infatuated by him but perhaps this infatuation is not the case. It could be that she is experiencing narcissism and is clingy to him because she may have been through social withdrawal in her life which may have led to the willingness to cling to such a man no matter what he may have looked like in his obesity.
A psychotic symptom of where she is clingy and needy around him may be according to Medicinenet.com, is that “Narcissistic personality disorder is a mental disorder that is characterized by an established pattern of being fixated on oneself, permeating the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the sufferer, and their relationships with others,” therefore she was expressing her fixation on Mr. Morisson like a narcissist being that she would fix her alarm clock to his time to greet him on his way downstairs.
I wrote this sequel in the hopes that people may understand the mental fixation and neediness that people have amongst others so that others may understand the dangers of other people including strangers making the sequel a very “dangerous vision” to the complexion of the mind and how it works when you are too fixated to something. Hence the title, “Sex and/or Mr. Morisson,” the title sort of victimizes the target as Mr. Morisson unless the downstairs neighbor who is a woman has sex with him or else it is Mr. Morisson’s life on hold. I admit I had tried to be gruesome in my sequel and so far so good, it actually fits to the prolonging of the downstairs neighbor’s wonder as to why Mr. Morisson did not come down this time.
One may wonder or begin to figure that it was probably the woman who killed Mr. Morisson out of her obsessive-compulsive actions that may have led to this scene. The scenario of train of thought changes as the story is soon being narrated by her psychologist who soon is taking note on her train of thought. Her fetishes may have been obsessive since which could be the issue in her case since “Fetishism” is a form of paraphilia, a disorder that is characterized by recurrent intense sexual urges and sexually arousing fantasies generally involving non-human objects, the suffering or humiliation of oneself or one’s partner (not merely simulated), or children or other non-consenting persons”
I wouldn’t want to keep it any more suspenseful accept for the fact that she still would’ve been in the institute that she was left in. Do not worry about her. She wouldn’t have been drugged up if the story was longer. I do not believe in medication, but she would have to be in order to keep her from the struggle of the cops that night. This is science fiction as I would like to call it a science fiction of the mind since it deals with a deep understanding for mental psychosis. But what could have led her to kill her own fetish? The answer is perfectly clear. Her obsession with her fetish for a man such as this could lead to a possible psychosis of paraphilia which lead to the killing of Mr. Morisson to the point of necrophilia which is the love of corpses. If ever a situation should occur, then obviously I would hope that this sequel wouldn’t have been the problem.
I have tried to satisfy the reader’s curiosity as to what had happened to Mr. Morisson and I therefore feel that the ending credits were a disclosed sort of closure for the people who have read “Sex and/or Mr. Morisson.” I also hope that the prolonging wasn’t and will not be prolonged for the reader’s entertainment. As of curiosity, what happens next tot he good doctor is really up to the reader.
THE FINAL REFLECTION AMONGST OTHER GHASTLY HORRORS
SEX AND/OR MR. MORISSON (A SEQUEL)
Prologue
If you have not studied human anatomy I suggest you do before reading this. Any educated person can guess what had happened in this story. If you profuse to tell me how I made this up saying that I had done such a terrible thing like this poor terrible schizophrenic creature, then I advise you not to. Although I claim to know symptoms of this disorder I advise you that I am not a loon and no, I haven’t done anything…. Not just yet. I am not a lawyer or a psychologist. but sometimes strange things happen in the minds of real people no matter where you go.
I lie listening, watching the hanging edges of my bedspread in the absolute silence of the house. Can there be anyone here at all in such a strange quietness? Must I doubt even my own existence?
“Goodness knows, I’ll say, if I’m normal myself.” (How is one to know such things when everything is hidden?) “Tell all of them that we accept. Tell them it’s the naked suits that are ugly. Your dingles, your dangles, wrinkles, ruts, bumps and humps, we accept whatever there is. Your loops, strings, worms, buttons, figs, cherries, flower petals, your soft little toad-shapes, warty and greenish, your cat’s tongues or rat’s tails, your oysters, one-eyed between your legs, garter snakes, snails, we accept. We think the truth is lovable.”
But what a long silence this is. Where is he? for he must (mustn’t he?) come after me for what I saw. But where has he gone? Perhaps he thinks I’ve locked my door, but I haven’t. I haven’t.
Why doesn’t he come?
That’s what I kept saying to myself as I pulled over the driveway passed the long row of houses.
“Where was Mr. Morrison?”
I had to rethink this over to myself. “Was it something I said? Something I did wrong to make him go away? In the long run, I didn’t think such silence could be such pleasure. Thinking about him and what not. I myself felt that maybe I must’ve did something to drive him away. Out of all of my antiquities my life felt reckless. I had to see inside. I had to find him.”
A smile had run across my face. “I will break in” I thought to myself. “I will probably do it when everyone’s sleeping. When everyone is tired and God knows, what will he be doing in there that’s so mysteriously well hidden? Yes” I thought to myself. “I shall….” a mysterious yet involuntary smile ran across my face once more. “Investigate”.
I looked around as I thought, “But not now. No, no, not now.” I went upstairs and got undressed and showered smiling. “I couldn’t bear to think that what I would do might kill me as to undress his privacy, but I needed to know! What was I to think?”
I woke up and got dressed and went downstairs to check the mail and a mysterious letter had appeared. “Mr. Morrison is no longer at your service.” it read. I had almost fainted. My face twitched as I screamed aloud, the neighbors hearing me and looking round.
There was nothing I could do but moan in pain and succumb to the fact that whoever wrote this knew where Mr. Morrison was.
I ripped it apart.
This time the tears were genuine.
“Had he moved? Where had he had gone?”
I sat down groping my chest sobbing aloud when suddenly I smelled something very potent. No doubt a dead animal. I gripped a wall but I didn’t come back to my senses.
It was already daylight. I found myself in bed. The letter rang in my head.
“Mr. Morrison is not at your service.”
It was in my own hand writing.
“What did this mean? What had happened? it was in my own hand writing.”
I started to wonder. “What and who was it that sent it? How did they know my own penmanship?” I had no idea how I had gotten to the bed and found myself well-showered.
Had the mail come in yesterday? The dead cat smell odiously waifed from out his window. I sensed secretly that it was myself.
“Mr. Morrison?” I had screamed. Half terrified of both what I might find and of myself.
“Mr. Morrison?! Oh God damn.”
I inconspicuously knocked on his door without no realization how I got to his doorstep. I pounded the door furiously after knocking for the longest time.
“Mr. Morrison!” I stammered half crying. “Open the door! Please!”
“Wait, was I dreaming?” The door was wide open and I was still somehow knocking on the door to Mr. Morrison’s apartment.
I stepped inside.
“Mr. Morrison! Please!”
The words were already in my head but somehow the door was wide open.
I stepped in and almost fainted. There was blood everywhere.
It stained the walls.
The putrid smell of flesh and blood hung over the whole apartment as I walked in. I suddenly knew now what I had done.
In my own handwriting all over the wall were the words, “You found me. Yet I am no longer at your service.”
I felt indifferent but I felt myself smiling.
“I have made him happy now. Out of all the world\\\’s goodness I made him happy.”
I looked for his body and found it on the bed.
“I didn’t rape him.” A distant voice said.
And I didn’t. It was true as I checked smiling.
“He was my porcelain doll.” I said checking the broken limbs.
His body was all over the place meaning his blood and I saw a heart and his spleen ripped apart out of his flesh and I remembered every juicy little detail as I could recall. Up the sphincter went my hand! Up his ass and into his mouth! And I ripped his heart out and did it again as it was connected to his spleen.
I smiled as the blood gushed forth from his mouth.
“Yes Mr. Morisson, I did it. I did it.” I said.
I don’t know how, but I was sitting on the bed amongst the blood in my pajamas. I was saying that to him amongst all the blood picking at him.
“I do believe Mr. Morisson that you are my soulmate.” I said staring off into the distance.
I found three bullet holes in his stomach and out came a gun as I tried to lift the blimp that was there. My love was dead.
I found pen and paper after a while. The smell still lingering.
I wrote “Yes Mr. Morisson. I have finally found you and your soul is now mine to treasure.”
I had a flashback about tracing his footsteps about in my apartment downstairs in the long row of houses. I wrote once again, “You are my treasured lover. And…” I had paused for a bit. “My only friend. ” I traced my fingers then with his blood not understanding how I got there and again how it happened amongst his skin and I had cried as I pulled the gun from underneath him. “I’m coming to join you my love.” I had sobbed into his face.
I then kissed him gently on his bloody lips, the blood becoming on my lips, as I cocked the gun and pulled the trigger as police sirens blared from outside the window.
There are some things we cannot protect and some secrets we cannot hide from ourselves. What was the crazy in her we would think? Science only knows this question far too Goddamn well. Was it the fact that she was infatuated? She was in fact. But who was she? What was she? The mystery remains unsolved. Schizophrenic? Catatonia? Or bipolarism? What was this infatuation with a man she never even knew? Who are we to judge the reasons of how and why she did it.
Justice has it that she was not sick. But was she? Science says that the chemical imbalance in your brain causes you to think too much. Was it just a thought that she killed him? Justice prevails.
“She was sick!” we heard one saying. “Reckless and felt abandonment.”
“Yes!” We heard another one say. \\\”But she was an imbecile who didn’t know wrong and therefore she deserved her death!”
I as a psychologist say that she was innocent and sick. But what could I do?
As the felon was pushed in we saw her still in one piece.
She wasn’t smiling yet she was drugged up this time. Her story will haunt me forever.
The trigger wasn’t pulled and the police grabbed her wrists and hands as she had struggled to get out of their grasp and into my office cuffed.
I had prescribed her medicine but there was a riot just outside the building telling me; yelling at me to put her to sleep for this highly gruesome act.
Will we ever know why she killed him? Science had taken over and as I tried questioning her, they threw a rock at my window asking me if I had a soul.
And there she lay in her jail cell.
Her story began like this.
She was a simple woman like I she seemed. But, there was no doubt that she had murdered him and was a pure schizophrenic and that her symptoms got worse within each day that passed on. I was not allowed to tell you her symptoms but she was called by justice a stalker and yes justice, she was a psychopath who deserved death.
I couldn’t help feeling sorry for this creature who created this monstrosity out of Mr. Morisson, but I can assure you that she was indeed sick.
I looked in the cell she was in and it was filthy.
How could they do this to her? She was sick.
She had no idea what she was doing. She was out of it. She lay there in her cell practically looking at the ceiling all drugged up.
And that was it.
She wrote a memoir about him a few days later. How he would clump up and down the stairs to his apartment. How every morning he would wake up and eat his breakfast at exactly the same time as her and how that led to the same characteristics that led her to follow his footsteps as he walked back and forth in his apartment.
When I asked her if it was curiosity, I wondered. What would she say?
Appalled was I, she didn’t say anything at all. She smiled saying the same exact words.
“I made him happy. I killed him.” she covered her mouth and gasped and as I thought she needed a tissue, she laughed.
Did she think of him as a toy? Did she think that he would love her back before she had killed him? Didn’t she think to ask him what would happen if she hadn’t had killed him? Before I could ask her she surprisingly said “Yes. I would’ve thought about it.” I was shocked as I played with her mind. And she told me “You’re playing with me.”
I told her “Play.”
So like Mr. Morisson, she predicted my every move. I never use the word psychopath because that is and was inhumane. I wondered as she lay in a new cell, what I was in for.
Works Cited
Medicine.net. http://www.medicinenet.com/narcissistic_personality_disorder/article.htm. 8/26/2014
Encyclopedia of Mental Disorders. Fetishism. http://www.minddisorders.com/Del-Fi/Fetish
One of Russia’s greatest assassins, she had no intention of loving her victims. All she knew was keep the door open at night and lock it during the day. She’d walk pass the men m her hometown in her fancy clothes with the sweet smell of her perfume. Every time a child walked by her she\\\’d give them money, candy or a flower. She wasn’t the town whore and everyone knew that. She was a Russian girl sent to Vienna, Germany during the cold war.
In Russia she was known as a scary person to mess with, but in Germany, she wasn’t known at all. Russia had tried to kill her and she was wanted for killing the czar’s son in bed while her grandfather, the son’s minister begged for him to spare her.
Some people in Vienna say she’d kill her victims because she was angry at the czar for beheading her grandfather after that had happened. Some say it was because she hated herself.
Others say she was a prankster in the villages, but a lot of people in the other villages around Vienna said it was nonsense that she was a major psychopath killing people in the streets. Some people would think she was estranged because they’d see her by the gallows each day.
How she did it remained a mystery but not to the men who had survived.
***
Anna Barron was not one to fuck with. Everyone knew that. She was beautiful with fair skin and light blue eyes and blonde hair. But deep down everyone knew she was strange and mysterious, but what made her so mysterious was the fact that not everyone knew that she was a murderer. She was diagnosed as a psychopath in many places of the United Kingdom. Her ghost had haunted many in the mental hospital and also many of the people in the U.K., so instead out of all the places in the world, she was sent to Vienna. Anna Barron was a just a teenager when she was sent to her first asylum. There seemed nothing wrong with her except for the fact that she was very quiet.
She\\\’d walk the streets at night waiting for the men to follow her home thinking it was safe for them, then they’d find her asleep at night, but the following morning, they’d be caught dead in the gallows. No one knew why Anna was like this. Usually when she was in bed the townspeople would look on and smirk at the men who were going to rape her, but in the morning, the town’s police had found traces of Anna’s body fluid on them being the fact that they were raped and found dead in the gallows once more.
Anna had flowers in her hair and a bouquet of white roses in her hands. As you can all see, it was almost time for her to get married so she was outside practicing her wedding vows. She had used to watch her husband strip and let them take pictures of him. He was a porn star and she had hated him very much, and for that, she blew up the studio where he had worked at for having all these affairs with different women. It was a good thing she did not get caught because he would have beaten her to death.
She had come from Russia to Vienna to Great Britain and her husband beat her up most often at times when things went wrong in the relationship. She had tried to be a perfect bride and when he couldn’t control her, he’d sleep around with other, many women. Anna was a very wholesome wife and had tried her best to rid herself of her psychotic tendencies such as the twitch of an eye which her bastard husband had hated so much and the way she shook when she wanted to throw dishes at him. She swore that the first time when she saw his infectious laughter that she, herself would change for him. One night they were in bed. Anna got up and started packing. Her husband awoke and got up and stood at the doorway leaning on it.
“You know Anna, I do love you.” He said staring at her.
“Go back to bed, you’re obviously drunk for telling me this.” She had said.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
‘Vienna.”
‘Why?”
“Because I’m tired.”
“Tired of what?” he asked. Anna didn’t answer.
“Anna, I’ll change. I promise.”
She stared at him shaking.
“l’m leaving you.” She had repeated twice.
She turned and said I\\\’ve had it with you.
‘Who will love you?”
Anna snorted.
“I’m looking for someone. Someone who shares the same passion as I.”
And with that, she left with tears coming out of his eyes.
***
Anna Barron had finally left his home and with that she went to Russia and looked up at a man who kept looking at her until he completely blocked him from going passed his direction.
“Where are you going sweet miss?”
I’m going to see my grandfather. He is here in Russia.”
He grabbed her by the wrist and forced her to a wall.
Two minutes later she was dragging the man’s body toward a moor and left him there. It was a funny thing because as she got on the train she didn’t remember slashing his neck and putting him into a moor.
As she slept on the train, she caught a man looking up at her face while he was reading a
newspaper. He sipped a cup of coffee and sat next to her and held her hand, gently nudging her in her sleep. As she looked up, eyes the color of smooth deep chaos black looked up and as he tilted his hat. She thought “Maybe if l kill this man, I could throw him off the train and onto the tracks.”
“I saw you.” He said. “I saw you literally drag a man with his slit throat into the moor.”
“Together we can make something happen for Russia since we are entering the cold war.”
Anna looked at him.
” I can’t keep a relationship. I am not the perfect bride.”
He sat up.
“I would know.’·
“How would you?”
She turned her head to the window where pastures passed on by.
The train had stopped.
“Look for me sometime miss, Here’s my card.”
She blatantly took it. She looked to see what it said, surprisingly, it was a lawyer. She then looked at the suitcase. Inside it was filled with papers. As he went to talk to the train conductor she quietly but quickly grabbed them and looked at them. At this she seemed very grave. He was an assassin.
“Wait!” She yelped rushing after him.
He looked back. ‘Then the name is Kris. Kristoffer Coddler ma’am.”
He had called for a small taxi and invited her in. Hurriedly, she had followed. Kristoffer was very good to her and fed her every day because he could see that she was malnutritioned. The house was a two-story, and Kristoffer brought in men and women from Russia for a party of his homecoming.
“Who is that girl? She’s beautiful! a woman named Tasha Vladistovok had exclaimed. This is Anna Barron, my wife. Come Anna.” he said with his arms outstretched. She blushed into his arms. A lot of the men in the room had scoffed with all the women as he danced with her.
Anna was embarrassed.
After that he had taught her how to slit throats properly and shoot guns the right way. Unlike her ex-husband he respected her and held her against him as he looked out the windows. Every day he brought new men and women in and killed them, explaining to Anna how to lure people in and kill them.
Kristoffer and Anna soon had one thing in common, they had liked to kill the upperclassmen of Russia.
The middle-class was hurting and there were soon many homeless as Pierson and Anna had tried to feed them and give them money.
Little did Anna know, Kristoffer was under investigation and a police officer soon to multiply had entered his house. One day, Kristoffer was severely beaten by a cop.
“Anna. Go get medicine for my wounds.” he mumbled groaning in pain. “Hurry!”
Anna took a basket worriedly, and in a hurry, went to get medicine for an open gunshot wound.
When she came back sadly, the house and Kristoffer was burning down.
“Kris!” She screamed. “Kristoffer!” An officer grabbed her and held her. “It’s alright Anna,” the cop had explained. “Kristoffer will no longer be the murderer of those poor souls. He’s gone.”
Later in court, Anna had explained why Kristoffer killed the upper class although the queen did not seem too happy.
Anna also spoke to the czar from his dead son and explained with tears in her eyes about why Kristoffer kept killing upperclassmen. He did it because he was trying to give back to the poor because they were being stolen from. The papers grabbed from his suitcase to the card he had given her at the train station that she grabbed was on the table.
“Are you bastards satisfied!” She screamed crying.
Vienna did not know what they were up against. She was an estranged, trained killer. Her grandfather watched as he was hanged for sticking up for her and her lover.
That was their story. They had loved each other and Anna kept luring men to bed and killed them in their wake and dragged them to their watery doom in the gallows, while Anna left her love for Kristoffer in the gallows where every day you’ll find her there.
All the conquests of the earth can not fathom an adventure with you.
Show me everything you know.
All that you are and let me write a song about you so I could put it in my back pocket and make sure it is not out of my sight.
Tell me everything you’re feeling so I can borrow how you felt and how the stars will come quake out on the universe.
I love you and I know you love me.
I know because I am always in your dreams.
Just as you are in mine.
Although I am not a mind reader I know my soul and my heart and all that I am still reside in you.
This is only because I feel myself dissolving away into your heart.
You are giving me the freedom to think this over.
I know you love me.
I know you still love me.
I know you do.
Because if you didn’t you didn’t you wouldn’t have written your poetry based on the only bias of my hair, the color of my skin, and the way you look at me or how I look at you.
You must love me don’t you?
Everything you’ve ever writ, everything you’ve drawn even if you don’t;
You’d still be thinking about me and wondering if I think about you too.
You love me just as I love you and you cannot say you don’t care.
And if you should be with some other girl know that I will not care.
Because you love me and you will always have that feeling in your gut that possibly I do too.
Your eyes are of deep pools of black that I wish to drown in.
They are like you an unshakeable earth, but like your love, it is like the fusion of the earth when atoms unite and produce the waters.
Your eyes are of deep pools of black that I wish to drown in.
The type of black I would like to lean upon and draw comfort from.
Although you are not mine, I cannot keep you and I cannot make you love me.
You are the morning dew after the rain.
You are the sun on my face that shines embracing me with its warmth.
Without you, I am cold.
I look forward to these days when I am with you.
On these days, I know I’m loved and although sour you may be, you are the sweetest thing I have ever met.
The only one who wanted to be with me.
The only one who lay faithful to me.
You.
In other words I look forward to coming home to you.
Do not be afraid to dream.
Do not be afraid to dream up nightmares
Be afraid of what’s in store
Not of lions, tigers and bears.
I’m daring you to dream my lover,
Dream my lover, dream
Dream of gold and silver and of spring in summer, fair.
For they’re just nightmares beneath tangles of sweat in your hair.
There’s a lot I couldn’t say about you.
The way you drive me crazy when you look at me.
The way you speak in poetry,
The way you do your hair.
How you love smiling at me to catch me off my guard.
The way you look at me and make me feel like I’m the only person in the room.
But I can’t say these things
Because you’re with her
And not with me.
But o how I do love you.
There is not a day where I don’t talk about him.
There is not a day that goes by that I don’t write about him poetically.
He is the man I can’t live without.
You’re like ice cream on a Spring day.
You’re like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
You’re like Summer in the Springtime and you never fail to make my heart skip twenty times faster than its beat.
I had a dream that I was coming home.
This time I came home to you.
And here you are.
And now I know that fairytales and some odds and ends come true.
He broke my heart with his romantic Italian guitar with the vision that he could break the spell of a broken woman with a gypsy soul and a heavy heart. Darling with smooth coffee brown skin and amber eyes, you wept as you played and my heart shuddered for I knew that we should part. For visions are only visions and your heart belonged strangely to me.
You are my favorite person.
My favorite loved one.
My favorite 2 a.m. thought.
My favorite person to run into when coffee shoppes are open.
My favorite person to depend on.
My favorite person to give sentiment to in return.
My favorite person to walk by and say hello to and have minimal conversations with in the college hallways and in class and in the atriums.
My favorite person to look at,
and my favorite person to love….
but during these small hours,
I don’t think you’d know that yet.
I trust you because I love you.
I trust you because you’re gentler with me than most people.
I trust you because I like having you around.
I trust you because you’re the most special person in the world to trust because you understand me.
I trust you’ll protect me with your heart and your soul.
I trust you because you’re the first reason for me to go and the first reason for me to stay.
I belong with you and you belong with me.
End of story
And you are full of stars.
The world is magical.
All you have to do is go on believing that you can fly higher than these balloons.
You are magic, forget the world around you and just breathe and fly.
I see wildflowers in you.
Beside
two
cups
of coffee.
I see a whole new world within your eyes and your head is like a bedroom, but I can’t live within you.
As hard as I try,
I can never
get
your
attention.
Only a simple hi or a hello and you melt my whole world.
I’ll never forget the face that embraced me.
That chiseled muscular body that held me to sleep.
O love. I will never forget you.
I’ve waited for you to come out of your worst.
I loved you at your worst.
I’ve seen your dirty but you’re not.
Back to you.
You don’t know how much love you emit at your worst….
The Moon- Shared craziness….a search for love in all the wrong places
You’ve looked for me in all the wrong places….
The Star- Reflective wishing….fulfilled wishes
How you’ve wished for me. To know the color of my eyes and hair. The graceful beat of my heart and the touch of my body.
The Devil- Lustful desires. Dark wish fulfillment.
You’ve lusted for me and now you have me put out in the corners of your eyes. You knew you wanted me and I’ve wanted you. Now I want you. Only your body.
The Lovers- Love. The foundation of finding one’s soulmate.
Now I have you and you have me.
I love you.
Your card reading…..
He reads my concepts like a book he had finished with self doubt in his mind.
My body knows what it wants.
And right now it craves you.
Right now it wants you.
He enumerates warmth.
He propels it.
He is like a wonder.
And I love him so much dearly.
I hope you experience life in the world.
I hope you drown in joy at the sight of the rising and the setting sun.
I hope you enjoy the little things in life and have perspective through the eyes of a newborn child.
I hope you never waste your innocence on someone who doesn’t need you.
I hope you find someone who will love you more all the way to the universe’s stars and to the earth’s core and back.
He loves me and he’s wild about me.
I swear to God that he, only he could save me.
Either from sadness or sickness.
He smells like fresh rain from the dawn; the summertime breeze rolling lazily through his hair.
He observes nature, and though he does not like philosophy he analyzes nature philosophically.
I have never seen such a man so content and yet so worried that sometimes I worry that his heart will burst into flame.
But I remember that you were and are my flame and I am just an ignited match.
He was very much into philosophy.
He was astonished by humanity and amongst other things.
He wasn’t him.
He was more.
I love him and he is wonderful.
He was always there for me and he would be the one I could spend forever with and the one person I cannot live and love without.
His feelings are as deep as the earth’s core and back up.
He is my love. My precious angel. He completes the worst parts of me possible and makes me happy when he is too busy trying his best to find me.
His love is like the sunshine’s warmth and his smile is definitely mischievous and deviant.
He is there when I need him and when I need him most.
But I’ll be missing him most in the morning and worrying about him by the time the day is over.
He will come back to me.
Come back to me, come back to me. My darling angel.
He will be the one to love me till thee end of time and take care of me….
forever.
Grab me.
Take me.
Hold me.
You’re the only man I’d ever fucking want….
Say you love me.
Say you love me….
Please for God’s sake say you love me.
She cried gardens through her eyes and the scent of honey put butterflies in her hair with roses as graceful as the way she put her hands to her face and with tenderness, she sighed heavily and heaven was behind her girth wild as the wind, and her dark brown hair turned red against the warmth of the sun.
He is a very good and wholesome man who is in love with life.
He doesn’t care much for stars and constellations, big there’s nothing I would change about him either.
He’s a wonderful man with a good heart and a gorgeous smile with fair skin.
He doesn’t think about me and he probably doesn’t know that I write about him, but he’s a good and pure person with a good heart nonetheless.
He is a lover of nature but he could never be just mine.
***
“You don’t think that the same stars could equal to the unfathomable equation of holding your hand?” He asked. “Do you wanna hold my hand?” “Why yes.” She said “Then hold it if you think I can show you the universes and all that’s in them. He shoved himself away and rolled to the left, tears running down his eyes. Slowly they drifted off together underneath the stars. He rolled over to look at her. “We will be together forever.” She mumbled in her sleep. She then held his hand in hers and wiped away his tears; kissing them away.”
***
Suddenly a horrendous screech was made by Mia’s mother. “Get out!” Her father said when he had found him. “Get out of my house!”
Peter Facinelli was a very notorious man and he was also part of the mafia back in his days. Some say he still is. Others, probably his friends had been to court and had denied it. Peter Facinelli was a very dirty man and how Pierson had fallen in love with his daughter Mia was because she had a pure heart and hated her father. Deep down inside Pierson thought, she had to have hated him. That night he remembered as he howled in the asylum fighting back tears, Peter Facinelli had entered his house and had killed his mother at the age of eleven. With a war cry, Pierson had attempted to attack Peter as Facinelli pulled out his gun and tried to shoot him. Pierson was too fast for him and had already stabbed him about ten to twelve times leaving the wounds open. He heard screeching tires and Mia grabbed Pierson by the shoulders leaving Mia crying for her father, and drove him into the asylum by the pharmacy nearby a long row of houses. He wondered if Mia would ever love him ever again night after night. One night he woke. up screaming Mia\\\’s name and the doctors found him struggling; shaking violently in the strait Jac et and tranquilized him with more medication than he could handle.
“Dear Pierson, I know what you had done to my father but remember that I adore you and I have always loved you. -Mia”
“Alright mate.” The doctor said. “You’ re out!” He had his hair cut and he had soon cut the long fingernails that was entailed with him while he was in the asylum. It surprised him. After nine years Mia had wrote to him. He looked at the letter in the dim light only to find a white rose attached to the letter. Pierson cupped his hands to his mouth and turned the sheet with those words over. There were a few more words.
“White stands for purity,”
Out dropped a ring. Grasping the ring safely putting it in his pocket as he put on his normal attire, he also read as he looked at the note, “therefore our souls are intertwined.”
Pierson had already learned to drive from his father before he left him and his mother. Nobody knew where he went, but he soon learned in the papers that his father was killed by a car crash. He drove up to Mia’s mansion as Mia was stepping outside. “Mia!” he had yelled. “You may not love me but I know what love is and I know you’d love me too!” He yelled. He then drove as fast as he could before her mother stepped out with her rifle and pointed it at him. It had been four years after thee asylum and he was the ripe age of twenty-three. He was a very hard man who had turned cold-blooded so it seemed, but deep down he knew his heart belonged to her. Mia. He drove around the block to Mia’s mansion and saw her kissing another man. It was strange; the pain that swelled up in his stomach, this feeling of betrayal sweeping over him. She mussed his hair and finally it had escalated. All those unwanted feelings had turned to rage. He got a gun from the backseat and looked around the mansion of the late Peter Facinelli. “Good,” he said. “No one’s home.”
He swept out of the front seat and got his gun and pulled the trigger, pointing it at the doorknob cocked the gun, pulled the trigger and shot the door open. He found them in her mother’s room. “What the fuck?!” her boyfriend exclaimed. “Fuck you.” Pierson snarled. Pierson was very strong for his age and so he wrestled the other man into the ground and kept punching him while Mia screamed. Mia’s boyfriend’s face was bloody despite the fact that he had tried to defend himself. Pierson got off of his stomach and the other man with his bloody face ran out the door.
“You better fucking run very far!” He screeched. “And if you tell, I’ll bloody fucking kill you!” He closed the door and kissed Mia’s sobbing face.
“It’s time we talked.” Pierson said and carried her outside and dropped her in the snow-carpeted lot. Pierson wanted to make love to her but moved away quickly snarling, but at the same time thinking of her electric green eyes and long, soft jet black hair. “Pierson!!” she called after him as she got up. “Pierson!” He turned his head. She was hysterical. “Do you still love me Pierson?!” He walked away swiftly laughing. “I know you still love me Pierce!” He ran up to her and laughed and scoffed in her face. “No. I don’t!” He spat. “Then why the fuck did you do that Pierce?! Where have you been all those years when I needed you?!”
She pounded her fists on him and dropped to her knees sobbing. Her left arm balled in a fist sagging against his waist. He quietly walked away. “Why would you want to hurt somebody who doesn’t let you down?! Who loves you?! Who doesn’t want to leave you?! Who cares for you?! Doesn’t it drive you out of your mind?!” She was weeping. Her eyes filled with tears as he eyed her coldly. Clearly she thought that he was oblivious to love but right now to him that was not the case. Who would know how to tell someone you love them when you don’t know how cause you’ve been locked up somewhere for half your life? Do you even know the very parts of this hollow soul that wants to love you? He thought. He turned away. “Walk on then!” she yelled. Pierson stopped as descending footsteps trudged through the snow. He ran trudging as fast as he could through the snow and then grabbed her and twirled Mia around and kissed her long and hard and swiftly into the night, he disappeared. And in that moment, Mia knew she’d always have him in her heart because he was magic. He brought magic in her heart and that one kiss had brought joy into her soul. “But Mia, you don’t know where I’ve been.” He said quietly smiling as she walked away a few miles ahead silently slipping through the window. The pain in his stomach started to swell. He wanted to grab her by her shoulders and shake her and yell at her with tears in his eyes. But he remembered that he wasn’t a little boy anymore, and he couldn’t cry to Mia who couldn’t understand what had happened to him. It had been three years since thee asylum, and how he had gotten there. “What was that?” he wondered. A tear in his eye had appeared. He knew it was a dark cold night just like the night he thought of Mia in the asylum. “You’ll never see me cry.” He mumbled. After that he had left. He drove around until he started shooting people from Vienna all the way to England. Soon he noticed he had slightly become Mia Facinelli’s father, the only thing wrong though was that he had shot all the right people and soon he became guard of the Scotland yard. It was ten years into the time of his life when he started to rebel against England. He slaughtered many, but the funny thing was he had never gotten caught. All he thought about now was Mia Facinelli as he stared off into the distance. As Pierson walked down the streets of England to his car, He saw an advertisement on every streetlamp with his name and face on it.
“Pierson Cipaolinni: Wanted for hanging. A Note Via: Queen Elizabeth The second of England.”
He ran into a nearby taxi and drove to the West changing his name for the moment. As the driver was driving the car, he had asked Pierson, “Why are you driving to France in such a hurry?”
“They say that France is the capitol of love.”
Pierson replied with a tear in his eyes. He then fell asleep and dreamt of Mia. Pierson had become a gambler very known to other women and ladies as a pimp. He was walking with two women and soon he again saw Mia. “Shoo!” Pierson had said to the women. Mia came up too him and said, “I thought for the heart of me. For once I could be your lover. Yours only and call you mine. All mine. I now feel I have never wanted somebody; some creature I could be there for in common ground in my whole entire life. Sometimes I have known that I would be scared for the entirety of my life knowing this if I couldn’t come to have you. And now I have you and now I know who the fuck you are! A fucking pimp with no feelings! No heart! No sincerity at all!” She then spat in his face. As she moved to turn away, Pierson grabbed her by her wrist. She gasped as he muffled his hand to her mouth.
“Do you remember this?” He took out the ring. “Do you? You little bitch!” Tears had swelled in her eyes.
“We’re ….” she gasped a handful of air and sobbed once more. “I’m moving to Italy where my grandfather is!” She cried. “And Pierson ….”
She opened her teary electric green eyes gazing up at him.
“I never want to see you again!” She flung off his grasp as he let her go and watched her run off into the night. He dropped down to his knees dropping the ring and cried out loud. He came back to his old home where he had found that Mia in her distress had forgotten to take the address she had slipped under his door. A few days later, he looked at the address and started to write warning himself not to go out and drink.
***
Dear Mia, Even as I lay down to sleep, your face will come back magnified by a tenfold increase of your smile, your eyes and the longing for the taste of your lips and the warmth of your hand against my palm. The bittersweet taste of your lips and the warmth of your body and the compassion that I feel will not change for anyone else. Pierson Dear Mia, All I could ever think about was I will love you for better or worse whether you were rich or poor and that was all I could think about and you were all I knew. And in all thee impossible I knew that was my strength. To die trying to tell you all this. I was a ghost inside myself. Some estranged wanderer doomed to roam this life through my own hells, but then again sweetheart, that was until I had found you. -Pierson
Dear Mia, The sound of your voice is like music to my ears. I miss your voice as much as I love hearing it. And I love music now as I once have. You teach me how to love music again. In my heart and in my head. I love you and I love the way your electric green eyes reflect the sun; the way you look up at the stars at midnight. The way I imagine your body is pressed against mine, the way I would always feel. Pierson
Dear Mia, Stop ignoring me and come back to me. Dear Mia, I’m coming back to you.
***
“We’re all starving for something we cannot possibly have especially if it is human love.” He thought to himself. Everything he and her had supposedly built together didn’t matter. And in that moment, he remembered; as he had tried to touch her hand as she squirmed away to get out of his grasp, he noticed that everything had meant nothing to her. And if that was the case, it was time to say goodbye.
“Who would love a freak like him? A freak who had just come out of an asylum half his life? He had gone to Italy and there he would be chastised never to feel again by the tears of a thousand angels and join the priesthood, but by his heart he felt nothing until he saw her. Mia although was already married to a very wealthy man in the heart of Italy and the pain in his head and in his heart had swelled up. He felt loss and pain as the memory of his time with her was altered by the ending of any kind of relationship with her. It wasn’t long before he had killed the man Mia was married to.
It all started at a bar where he found Mia’s husband kissing another woman. He was so angry and rage-driven that he shot him as the bullet aquatinted itself with his head. The blood had splattered everywhere and soon he killed everyone in the bar and left off quietly laughing into the night. He then changed his clothes at a nearby apartment he stayed in. It was quite shabby but very presentable. He had to use a bucket to put the water in that leaked from the ceiling, otherwise, it was flooded. He soon climbed the wall to where Mia had lived. The wall was covered in cobblestones, so it was easy for him to climb them. He jumped and caught the window sill with one hand and then lunged himself through the window. He saw Mia there lying like a porcelain angelic doll wrapped in her sheets. He slowly hovered through to the foot of the bed and examined her. She was beautiful with her curves and supple breasts and long pearly white legs. He had suddenly shaken her gently like a lover and grinned at her. “Pierson!” She grabbed for a lamp. There were bruises on her thighs and legs and her left eye as black as coal. “You came for me!?” “Mia,” he said with passionate brown eyes, “of course I came for you.” She kissed him and that was just about enough for Pierson. He slowly took off her silk clothes and again kissed all her bruises. Soon he was making love to her, slowly going onto her bed and under her sheets, but he wasn’t just diving into her. He was diving into uncharted waters as her soft smooth skin devoured his flesh. He grabbed the sheets as she grabbed his back. A surge of emotion endlessly purging through him as he lifted her and pulled her against his chest as she gently touched his lips and kissed him softly as he nipped at her neck to her breasts. He craved her and loved her senselessly. He was on fire. He wanted her completely and all to himself. He kissed her cherry colored lips after she fell asleep and was at her side holding her. The next day outside the mansion, he explained to her that he had killed her husband; her bruises now gone, and quietly sat with her face to face looking into her now forest green eyes and had proposed to marry her. She cried gardens through her eyes, and the scent of honey from the tears against her hair had aroused butterflies below. Pierson put a rose through her hair from a nearby bush as graceful hands put her hands to his face. With passionate tenderness, her fingers grazed his lips. She then sighed heavily; a golden heaven was beginning to rise behind her girth as wild as the wind blew through her jet black hair as she kissed Pierson gently on his lips while holding his face. The warmth of the rising sun and the coolness of the night air’s release left behind them. “No Pierson. I can’t.” Pierson was overcome by Mia’s gaze and looked at her with a coiffed look as though he was making fun of her. “Pierson! How dare you look at me like that!” Little did she know he felt that the promise of heaven laid in her eyes to him. He looked at her questioning eyes and he told her with the most saddest brown eyes, “I wish you’d marry me Mia. You are the meaning of my existence. You are my lover You have abandoned me to the wild once more.” Mia looked at him. “I loved you Pierson.” Pierson looked back. His tears in his eyes behind light brown hair. “I love you Mia. Come back tome.” “I won’t Pierson.” She said defiantly. With that he swept off the chair and looked into the distance. There he saw the vast valley and the few trees, and the green that showered the grass. He stood up and kissed Mia’s forehead. She shoved herself away from him. He loved her. She didn’t love him and she always kept her promises. Never was never. He slowly got up and walked down the stairs and went out the door. A man was singing Frank Sinatra’s English version of “Quiet Nights and Quiet Stars.” Otherwise known as “Corcovado.” “Are you from around here in Italia?” Pierson asked. “No, but I have heard this song when I first come to America.” Pierson turned to walk away. “Oi!” The man called. “Pay!” He gave the man some coins in his spare pocket and went back to his apartment as he took off his clothes and started singing the song. He knew it quite well, so he started singing the song.
“Quiet nights of quiet stars, quiet chords from my guitar. Floating on the silence that surrounds us. Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams, quiet walks by quiet streams And a window looking on the mountains and the sea, how lovely This is where I want to be here with you so close to me Until the final flicker of life’s embers. I who was lost and lonely believing life was only A bitter tragic joke, have found with you, the meaning of existence, oh my love. I who was lost and lonely believing life was only A biller tragic joke, have found with you, the meaning of existence, my love.”
He woke up the next morning and walked up the cobblestoned streets only to find that Mia and her things were gone. This time he didn’t smile or cry. He looked somberly at the bed he made love to her in. He knew the smell of honeyed hair would never come back to him. He moved into the house she had lived in and wrote. Dear Mia, I’II love again. No matter how many times you break my heart. Pierson Cipaolinni
***
“The time had passed on and coincidentally, just coincidentally, I knew that Pierson still had dreams about me. That he thought about me. His desire had only led me to the point that no one could ever love me like that. So I took the train North from England and took a plane flight from France all the way to Italy to look for Pierson. The man who loved me, would cherish me, but most of all, the man wo wanted to marry me.” Mia thought as she got out of the car and walked onto the cobbled street into the valley. It was the year of the war between Italy and England. Mia came to the two story she had once lived in where she last saw Pierson. There she had found about a letter for once every week, sometimes three times a week until the pile came down to the last letter. It was Pierson’s journal from the asylum. All the way to the back of the journal was a crumpled newspaper article someone had in and his license for the military of America. She gasped her hands into her mouth as she flipped through the pages where she had found blood stains upon them. She shook and started sobbing as Pierson told his story about how much he had loved her when she turned to the last page of his journal. Dear Mia, I’ll be home soon, and I will come back to you. I promise. Pierson Cipaolinni
***
She stood in an apartment that faced the sea and waited for the ship to come that accompanied Pierson for a good few years. She kept writing to him but he never responded. Every day she would walk along the shore waiting for him; the fresh breeze and the smell of sea salt reminded her ofh1m on the ship. She kept having dreams about him and as she lay there sleeping on her side, she tossed and turned. At dawn there was a foghorn and she had immediately awoken from all the tossing and turning. She ran out of the apartment and went to the harbor where she saw Pierson onboard.
“Pierson! Pierson!” She screamed waving desperately to catch his eye. When the ship swept over to the shore, he came out after the captain of the ship had dismissed him and as he went off board the ship sailed away into the ocean from the sea. Mia ran to the dock. As Pierson waved goodbye she embraced him and as he grabbed her quickly by her wrists and kissed her neck all the way up to her second time, he made love to her on the mouth near the shore and as he felt her breath for the “Pierson!” She inhaled. He carried her up to the old ragged old bed that he took his jacket off on and he inhaled her purity and her sweetness and took all of her in, her warm skin against his cold and wet body until they were drenched together, He exhaled and held the bed post, his muscles tense as he grabbed her hair. Her moans were unknown to him and his groaning kept resounding in her ears.
***
The next morning, he was holding her and for the both of them time stood still as the fly in the window sill kept buzzing, desperate to get out of the window. “Mia, baby you know I have nothing. I’m not rich either but I can still support you.” She looked up at him and smiled beneath the sheets. “Do you still think I can show you the universe Pierson like the time you said when we were once little?” He looked at her questioningly and got off the bed and sat back down staring at his feet. “Pierson, I know why you were in thee asylum.” She said with warmth in her green eyes. “I wrote you and you came out. How could you forgive me and my family?” He finally held her hand and told her about his days on the ship.” I told you Mia. Did you find the letters?” He asked as he slowly got up and dressed. “I’m home now. I finally came back because I belong to you As for the asylum, it is now the past. I wanted a future with you so badly that I touched your hair and went in by your mother. I love you Mia and that’s all I know.” Mia looked down blankly. Pierson dressed up and held her naked body to his as he stood up. “Baby. Don’t blame yourself.” She gazed up at him fiercely. “Pierson, after mother had died I came here to Italy to find my heritage and I had thought about you since the time you were a pimp, the time when you were in the asylum and I love you with all your imperfections Pierson. I love you with all my heart. I have the money so don’t be ashamed if you want to stay with me. I really hated my father back in the day especially when my mother sent you to that asylum.” That very night, Pierson had gone outside and looked up at the stars. On quiet nights like these, he thought of Mia and he couldn’t had wished for anything better. After that he kissed her warm lips and had a family together. Mia after nine months was giving birth and as Pierson held their daughter’s hands. He named her Lynette Caitlyn Facinelli Cipaolinni. They raised her to be a good woman. After years of happiness, Mia had passed on with Pierson as they grew old together. Meanwhile Lynette had her own love story to tell.
There were lunatics all over the asylum. He knew it when he came out and so did she, but she wasn’t one. She was only eighteen. Meanwhile in my study I wrote to her wondering if those notes were ever found by her from the doctors. Sadly, not a single one was sent.
***
There were times when Jase Mason Coacher felt like he was trapped in his own time. He wondered what may have happened if he hadn’t have pulled the trigger in the first place and bit the cop in jail. It wasn’t that he was a bad kid either. He had tried so hard to protect his mother from the stab wounds of his father. Every time Jase had tried to make everything feel better, his father would beat the crap out of him, no mistake. Jase had to make the best of things. His mother would never cry in front of him and she’d go upstairs and give him ice cream after a rough beating from the table. This profound knowledge of love for his mother was so great he tried to shoot his father as he beat the shit outta her and had tried to pull the trigger with a gun from the ice-heads next door. Sadly, his mother breathed no more. “No! I want to go to my mother’s funeral!” He yelled out of the room. “He fucking killed her! He killed my mother!” “Your father wants to come see you now.” The nurse called in from the speakers. Blinded by tears Jase wept. “Why’d you kill my fucking mother!?” He yelled. “Get me out!” His father came in and found Jase in a strait jacket. “Are you on my side? Or are you with your useless fucking bitch mother?” His father looked like a lunatic. “Fuck you ass-wipe!” Jase spat in his face. Then no you silly little fuck! In ya go!” his father yelled grinning. She sat by the windowsill looking at him and he had swiftly walked by. But then there was her. She sat by the windowsill and dropped down to her knees on the dirty floor crying.
***
Jase was typing madly. Trying to retrieve her memories of him was hard as typing madly. It was hard for him. “Jessica, I’ll be there to help you.” He muttered under his breath. He cried amongst all the typing. “Jessica what had happened? I want you to remember me too and what had happened.” he swiftly got up and made a phone call.
***
She started pounding the door. “Take him out.” She screamed in agony. “He wasn’t fair to him! He loved his mother. The droned voice came on again.” Jessica get off the floor please.” A scurrying noise of the nurses came in as the girl dragged her feet miserably to the bathroom, water rushing. “Jessica! Stop it!” The crying was stopped and there was a thud on the wall’s room next to me. For the next three days, I found piss on my straitjacket and then they had to cut it off me. I cleaned up hurriedly in the bathroom that they had drugged Jessica up in. it wasn’t very clean. Pubic hair had clung to the toilet, blood stains were on the sink, and not to mention, drawings on the olive-green walls. The outside wasn’t so bad probably except that it had smelled faintly of urine and unflushed toilets. There was a pool, but it was empty and drained without water. Fungus was inside it. The type that looked black with yellow. “Great.” I thought. “More urine.” The smell as I had approached it had made me fill my stomach up with vomit. As I stood by the door opening as I began slowly exploring every room, I found this one and I threw up, my nose wrinkling from the stench. I went back inside. On all the floors I left off of, the pool on the tenth floor was utterly disgusting. It was so disgusting it made the bowels of my stomach hurt. On each and every floor there was screaming. An agonizing scream. It was preposterous. It was men and women strapped onto their beds. One woman was shaking and had her eyes rolled up. Others were smiling and laughing at the same time while they were strapped. The only one out it seemed, was Jessica. She sat on a chair that was nailed to the floor reading a book. “Hello Jase.” I stopped and stared at her stunningly beautiful blue eyes with fiery red hair. “How did you know my name?” I asked. Totally ignoring the question, she just replied with a cheerful voice, “I’m Jessica, Jessica Lange.” “I’m ….” “Yeah I know who you are, you’re Jase Mason Coacher. I know exactly who you are.” She extended out her hand with a smile. I turned and I ran down the stairs to the first floor where the doors were panicking. How could somebody here have known so much about me? The door was locked and tears rolled down my eyes. The smell from the pool upstairs was not helping. I threw up and fell silently to the floor as I blacked out.
***
I was strapped in bed. My head hurt nearby a wall. and I couldn’t get up. Jessica was just sitting on the chair I looked up at her. “How did you know my name?” “I know everything there is to know about you Jase.” I stirred in my straps uncomfortably. “It’s what psychopaths like me know best about normal people.” I was very scared. I was so scared I almost wet my bed sheets until she started unstrapping me. “Jase , we’ve gotta get the fuck outta here.”
***
I looked around my room and stifled a cry. It wasn’t a cry. No. it was agony that I couldn’t save her after that.
***
The moment I knew it we were running down the hallway and down the stairs to the doors. She picked the lock with what little we had and soon the doors were open. A doctor came running towards us and as I turned she was screaming my name. She was too strong and although I made it, she accidentally bumped her head on the wall and conked out. “I’ll come back for you! I swear it Jessica!” Little did I know, Jessica Lange was never coming back.
***
I got up off the chair into the room where my coat was. It had been years since that night. What made it so significant was that Jessica was the girl I kept having dreams of. My father died of lung cancer two years ago three years after my escape. I went over to see Jessica in the hospital, so I reached into my pockets and pulled out eight dollars for a bunch of white roses. The doctor came down with white robes. “Mr. Coacher, Mrs. Coacher is awake. Come right this way.”
I slowly went up the stairs. “Did my wife’s memory recover?” The nurse couldn’t recover her memory. I stood there shaking all over. “Mrs. Coacher?” “Yes?” “Your husband’s here.” “Who?” I went inside. “Jessica?” I peered into the room filled with roses. As I looked Jessica smelled like sweet jasmine and magnolias. The room I kept was still filled with roses and as I looked into her eyes, I leaned in to kiss her. Her lips felt warm and she started to panic as she pushed me away. “Jess. It’s me Jase.” “You’re the boy I met at the asylum.” “Yes honey it’s me. Jase.” The doctor came in abruptly. “Jase, we need to talk.” He pulled me out of the room. “Jase, Jessica has only three more days to live.” My mouth twitched and my eyes as I went back into the room. I’ll be back Jess.” It was a forty-five minute drive and soon I brought the papers I wrote and a book of poetry. I read to her that night and the day after. I made sure she was being treated. I was nothing like my father and I loved Jessica with all my heart. Jessica I had kissed on the forehead as she had quietly died. She was everything I had. At her funeral, l had decided to give her red roses, a sign of love. After the funeral, I cried. I cried really hard.
***
I was strapped in bed. My head hurt and l couldn’t get up. Jessica was just sitting on the chair nearby a wall. I looked up at her. “How did you know my name?” “l know everything there is to know about you Jase.” l stirred in my straps uncomfortably. “It’s what psychopaths like me know best about normal people.” l was very scared. l was so scared l almost wet my bed sheets until she started unstrapping me. “Jase, we’ve gotta get the fuck outta here.”
“Mom!” I remembered the sound of my voice calling her. “Yes!” She would reply curtly. “I’m going outside!” I could remember walking outside with my mother’s hand in mine. I loved her fine fingers. She had the finest hands in Italy. Smooth and slender. The whole town had loved her. Everyone envied her and she was known as the most beautiful in the family. Even I eventually came to think that I envied her. I envied her so much that sometimes it hurt to go outside because everyone had stared at her. I remembered something my grandfather once said to me. “One day you’ll be just like your mother. Beautiful just like her and mostly, feared.” His words resounding in my head had still gotten a way to my heart. I missed him especially since my mother had killed him for saying that to me. Ever since he had said that, she kept eyeing him. When he’d touch my face and kiss me on the cheek, she’d get up and pound the table. Ever since she had shot him six times in the back his voice had been echoing in my head over and over. At my grandfather’s funeral, I didn’t cry. It’s funny that I didn’t because he had loved me so much. No one understood me like my grandfather. But somehow as I smiled a brightly lit smile, my mother and I had made up. “Mom! Is there something wrong?” I asked staring at her long fingers. “No darling. Nothing’s wrong.” I took her hand. “Mama, you’re rotting.” Her hand was the only thing I kept in her bedroom. I carried it as though it was something special and terrific because I had avenged my grandfather and I had eventually, finally became feared and beautiful. I was wild and free. Free from my mother’s rottenness and cold hearted features. I loved my grandfather and yet no one gave him credit for keeping my chin up, I endlessly kept killing people and for me it was a never ending story.
“Canada was never a better place to start with war against the U.S.A. in 1975. The strong sweet smell of cold beer fills the airy night after a long and fierce cold day. The grass is wet and the sweet smell of pine is distinct outside the bar. You can hear the boys outside their platoons howling at the moon over a victory. We were just off the border between Canada and the U.S. and we were just two days away from going home. Some are in the bar singing their lungs out to Frankie Valli’s “Oh What A Night,” or having warm shots of whiskey within the light brown wooden walls of the bar cabin. We haven’t lost any men yet, and we were lucky that the air-strikers came just in time to demolish the enemy over the mountains. With no man lost, I am looking at the signs on the walls of the bar cabin. Some of the signs are colorful paintings of pin-up girls with a navy blue sign that says “Route 66” on the placard. I notice that the bartender is staring at me. I told him as thoughts raced through my head. “You?” He scoffs accusingly. I was so drunk I couldn’t even tell whether he was scoffing or yelling at me but I know it was an accusation. “You shouldn’t be in the arms. You’re in the army and you’re a woman? “No.” I started slurring a ridiculous sounding British accent; my senses almost gnawing at my eyes blurring. As I looked at the bartender, my senses started becoming more and more aware. I could’ve sworn to God I heard the pounding of either his or my own heart. “Gee. What a Canadian. ” I thought. “I am but a man now.” I continue. “But I am quite the lieutenant.” Some of the boys in the bar are snickering. The sergeant laughs out loud and pats me firmly on my back. “Have a good day ma’am and die a legend.” He was saying as he walked away from me. He headed for the door silently walking out. His footsteps slowly dying as he disappeared outside. “Maybe he had said that because it was my third year in the armed forces, or maybe he said it cause he might miss me when there will come a time when it’ll be the enemy’s tum to pull the trigger on my sorry ass. I was a pretty laidback soldier doing whatever I wanted and for some odd reason, I earned two golden medals and I beat thee odds by going the extra mile ensuring that I took these men home safely alongside the female cadets. ” My therapist was jotting down notes silently as I watched his smooth hands pace across the paper. I look back at the signs on the bar cabin’s walls. I tum my head, take another sip of whiskey and head to go outside. As I look over at the platoons, there were two boys fighting over a porno magazine. It seemed like I was the only one having a cold beer as the dark starry night rolls on by. The sober boys are somewhere in their platoons boxing. Their sweat beading down over their faces and chests with their shirts off and their army jeans on. lt is the freaking weekend and we have this night all to ourselves and after we knew we’d have a long day ahead of us after tonight. Suddenly, as I was staring off into the distance, gunshots like loud Christmas poppers start tearing into the night air. We are under attack and all I remembered while on the bus the next day was me cocking my pistol and pulling the trigger.
***
My therapist looked at me. “Certeza, M. Do you know why you’re here.” I nodded my head left to right, right to left. “Sir no sir.” I answered. “Certz, you’re here because you have failed to remember anything the night before.” I stared into the distance like I did that night in the bar.
***
I am in the bus the next day. Some of our men were wounded with bloody but not gory handkerchiefs over our heads and bloody wounds. I figured I shot the enemy that night. But the funny thing was, I didn’t remember a goddamned thing. Whether it was cocking the gun or pulling the trigger; my memory was like a roaring flame of fiery hatred; then disappearing into the lonely hot sun and opening itself to a brand new day on the field. The battle field was my basketball court, and my next goal was to join the air force completing two more years in the military. I looked down and saw a shoe with crimson red blood. The foul stench of something that had died filled the bus. Immediately, I had begun to panic. I am now taking water out of my cantina and pouring rubbing alcohol on gauze and cleaning up the soldier’s wounds with astringent while he is moaning in agonizing pain. “Certz? The Sergeant is coming. Now do you remember? ‘No.” I replied. The sergeant started crying as he stood by the door. I could hear the soft pattering of footsteps as he silently went sobbing out of the building. ‘·Goodbye Certz.” After that, the last of my sanity had gone.
“There was something about the way she moved or possibly the way the sun breathed against her hair to show off luminous highlights of red hair through the black. Whether or not, she had grey eyes like electricity and when you looked directly at them they were as warm as glowing embers of a fiery brown with red tint. Her love was as calm as the seas and when the different seasons came, her eyes came into view. The sun; gleaming upon her hair. Her cherry red lips I begged to kiss. She was like me. We would go out late into the night and she would talk to me; tell me about random things she thought about like for example, the stars. She would never bore anyone because she was the girl that everyone loved to love. She was the type of girl that made you think of the rain pouring down hard on the cobblestones in Summer. Especially when it was Summer. Her raven hair would glisten with tinted red Her eyes would light up like fireworks in an umber explosion of color. Her skin soft as a feather, would touch mine, and she would tell me about her days on the beach whereas in Arizona, there was no beach and we had only the hot, rising sun all on a Summer’s day with the heat being hot as the sun glistened off my leather jacket as my bike roamed on. I wasn’t just a nerd on a bike, I was thee nerd on a bike and I knew a lot about poetry so I decided to write about her before she died.” I smiled and cried to myself because inside I knew that she was in a better place. She would lead a better life and possibly drown out God’s sorrow because in the core of my heart and the soul of my mind, I knew. I knew she was an angel. Looking back, I remembered me in my black leather jacket, me smiling at her like a young boy and her hand slipping into mine. Sometimes I’d cry like a baby at night and I’d howl in agony because there was no credit for the cause of her death. It was no where to be found. Not in archives, not in the papers, not even in church. The people who knew her were beaten up because unknown to others she was like a criminal who had committed a crime. But in cases like these, who were we to be blamed when the one who had committed the crime was the one who shot the fucking gun in the first place? All his friends sneered at me with his friends’ children. “What’s wrong? Your girlfriend died?” He snickered. That was it. I had to react. It was time. I had felt that it was also time for him to die. I first punched his face once and then twice until I got up and kicked his stomach down to the road. There was a car and my father had pulled up just in time for me to stop. “Jerry! Jerry!” I heard footsteps crunching. That faggot almost hit his crucifixion. “Jerry! No more! Get yer ass up off him” He took me up from my arms. My father was the town preacher and that girl was all I ever wanted, all I ever knew. The one who would have taken the bullet for my sad, sorry ass.
It was the war of Vietnam in 1966. The Americans and their dreams were getting desperate and times got hard. Even America was starting to recruit the good people of Italy. Two of these men, Fred Johnson and Pierce Spicolli. Fred Johnson had an American father and was brought back to Italy on those terms of American citizenship. His mother, Sophia was a drunk after Fred Johnson’s father, Christopher Johnson had died of cancer due to smoking cigarettes for a long while. Fred and Pierce were good friends and were also related to each other through their mothers’ side. Pierce was brought up good and book smart, meanwhile Fred was just the opposite. Fred didn’t want to admit it but a long time ago, Pierce’s family took Fred in because he had hit his mother and had run away. Not that Fred was a bad boy, he had wholesome relationships with each of his girlfriends the problem was that Fred couldn’t keep a relationship. The ship “Darla” came and Pierce and Fred ran up to the port with their bags. The war in Italy was just over what with the mafia and Pierce and Fred were recruited as Marines. Pierce was twenty-eight and Fred was in his late thirties. They were going to Vietnam to kill the yellow man for thee American dream. Pierce wasn’t fully American but he was promised as a soldier by the president of the U.S. his American citizenship once he got done serving. Pierce married the same day Fred did to a woman named Martha while Fred married her best friend Mathilda. They were both happy couples until the war of Vietnam in 1966, June 1st, when Fred and Pierce were forced to join.
***
A year later onboard, Fred was tugging and nudging at Pierce to get up. “Pierce!” Fred hissed at him into his ear. Pierce was half asleep with his eyes opening halfway and then shutting. “What Fred?” he groaned irritably, his speech slightly slurred. “Izza-war over?” he slurred. “Pierce!” he hissed. “It’s time to wake up! Of course the war’s over dimwit! We’re going home!” Pierce got up and went over to the deck of the ship with Fred dragging him over. Pierce looked around him. He saw the men were playing cards on a round, wooden table gambling. Mostly for loose change and cigarettes. The sergeant was asleep, drunk and slumping on a wall on the floor with a bottle of whiskey. The general was looking closely, studying his cards. The lieutenant raised his cards to the ceiling and looked at them.
“Well general.. .. ” He grimaced waiting for an answer. “I guess I won.” The radio started playing a couple of American classics announcing, “Here playing is a classic hit by Frank Sinatra form the Colombia Years!,” The classic drumroll starts as the announcer on the radio said, “That Old Black Magic! Next up, Gerry and The Pacemakers!!!” As Frank Sinatra sings on the radio, Pierce comes out surprisingly from the steam filled shower with a towel draped around his ass and his genital area. Pierce looked tiredly looked around and saw Fred as he had slowly put on his clothes, a picture of his wife on the small brown wooden dresser. As he hung his towel, Fred quietly came in as Pierce stared into the distance. After a while, he asked, “Fred?” Fred looked at him. Pierce was still staring into the distance. “You know my wife is a very beautiful wife.” Tears were rolling into his dark-brown eyes. “Fred? If you make it, tell her I couldn’t.” “But Pierce,” Fred eagerly said. “You know we’re gonna make it through this one like we always have!” Pierce peeped in through the door that Fred walked in. The sergeant asleep on the floor had died. Pierce looks solemnly at Fred. Nobody noticed the plague but Pierce that had broken throughout the ship. \\\”Well ya know Fred, all wars can’t be won.” Pierce hurriedly went back into his headquarters while Fred tried to reassure the remaining soldiers that everything will be alright. Meanwhile, while Pierce was quietly sleeping, he dreamt of coming home to his wife; her hands folded in her lap on a chair and a warm fire burning in the fireplace; the joy sparkling in her eyes as she enfolded him in a tight hug with her lips gently pressing against his. Pierce had awoken to the sirens of the ship wailing. The last thing he heard from Fred was “Holy shit,” as the ship was bombed.
***
Martha and Mathilda were at the train station. Martha startled by the honking holler of the train coming in as she waits for her husband to get off the train and earn his American citizenship. Hours passed by. Martha ran up to Mathilda. “Mathilda! Is Pierce coming home yet?”
Mathilda handed her a newspaper with disappointment and tears on her face as she sobbed and ran off into another compartment completely hysterical. Martha took the newspaper and saw the heading with worry creased upon her face. She too started sobbing. The headlines wrote “‘Darla and Company: Sunken Ship.” Martha held Mathilda up and carried her onto the train. As soon as she placed herself down onto the seat, she plopped both her hands and the open newspaper on her lap and tilted her head slightly sideways to a green meadow with very few sparsely scattered trees and bushes. Martha had tears running down her face. Sadly Martha had died silently asleep on the train . ..
Ma’am!”
The train conductor bad announced after they had stopped when a few fields and villages had passed by.
“Ma’am?”
He checked her pulse after a few attempted tries at waking her up. Martha had died quietly with her hands on her lap, eyes closed. Meanwhile, Mathilda started screaming and shaking her shoulders.
I get so caught up in life that I barely have time to listen to music whenever I am around you. I am a fool who loves you. Clumsy looking, the touch of your hand still lingers on your impressionable good looks and the words that come out from your tongue. Your voice will linger in my head and in my heart.
My heart and the fire to the coal of my mechanical heart to work lies in you
you are mine and you are my soulmate
through coffins and hearts and tainted souls
You make my world go round and make my world all tangled up into this bottomless abyss where fires roar and the passion inside me with the sound of thee alarm clock in my head that ticks rings when I see you through coffins, hearts, and tainted souls
Through coffins, hearts and tainted souls they dance for you and cry for you and kill all for you
When birds happen to sing and whistle their merry tune in the Springtime on emerald leaves,
they are all to me just coffins, hearts and tainted souls when I’m with you
because nothing could ever keep us apart
away and out through coffins, hearts and tainted souls
you say you love me
and that is enough
through coffins, hearts and tainted souls
through coffins, hearts and tainted souls, the moon cries out and shines for you and as the sun moves i move and when I reach that top you are nowhere to be found whenever I reach it
I grab for you in times of need and hold you!!!!
Every fragment of you and every beat of your heart I believe I can hear through coffins, hearts and tainted souls…..
Yes, my love, I still believe I can hear your footsteps pounding on cobblestones and side walks
You are there through coffins, hearts and tainted souls
Through tainted souls I climb
through coffins I still look out
through hearts I go out looking for yours
through coffins, hearts and tainted souls
He loves me, protects me and he nourishes me. His human heart and emotions though do not know human emotion. He wants to love and be loved. That’s how I know he’d never leave me because he loves me.
He only knew how to love.
You are the Milky Way and I cannot touch you for I am made up of constellations and stardust from an erupting neutron.
A girl in Venice with light green shoes, and a jade dress
along the canal,
her hair in a mess
upon her lap sits a book of poetry
her reflection in fine symmetry with the water..
Love is like water, it merges into one tiny teardrop that falls on your face and sometimes comes in the form of rain….
Love is like the rain that nourishes all plants and flowers helping to make it grow….
Love is like a wave that crashes into a rock that seeps into its crevices only to find itself into every crack….you being the rock while I being the water….
Love is like the ocean….it changes colors of every type of blue and holds you as you float into its waters….
Love is like a whirlpool that whirls you around till you touch the bottom of the seafloor and fall into the sea; consumingly drowning you….
Love is like the tide that rises and falls as the sea level erodes into a level of highs and lows
Love is like the water which merges into your skin and just holds you there while you float….
Love is like water where it is all around you….
Love is like a tsunami, breaking everything in its path and reaching….outreaching only to you…
A girl in Paris with fickle dreams and high heels wearing frills & lace with a black balloon
twirling around her are August leaves
under a starry full moon
A Flower Amongst The Daisies
taken where no one would want him
where no one would ever take him to be loved
no one to belong to
a place where he is not loved
I’ll take you where there are moonbeams that only you can touch
where flowers blossom in the wind as they fall form their dangling leaves
where every dove flies and comes to greet you where every other bird sings
Where I will always love you
and give you what I can’t bring
Like a butterfly on your nose
like eyes glistening like the sun
I will always love you
my dead childlike little one
lay me down to rest in peace
within the shadows of the valley of death
where I can always hear you laugh above the thorny sheathe
A flower….
Amongst the daisies….
As I was flying through thee air, it was very windy and the fresh sea salt beneath my nose felt good. The air flying through my hair gave off a wispy scent of the cool breeze. The air was like pine and the night never felt better. As I glided towards the cool waters, the fish nipping at my toes felt distinctively light and sort of small. I saw many stars while up above the air and I was completely surrounded by the cool moonlight which sparkled above the current while up above in the air. I felt delighted gliding among the water and it felt very magical. the stars lit off little lights distinctively off the waters and the clouds were visible between the moonlight. It was nearly morning so I decided to glide around the water and then land on the beach where the sand was warm beneathe my feet. I walked through the cool waters and waited for the current to take me in. It was like the water that was all around me was blending in through my skin. It didn’t feel eerie but natural to blend in with the water. it felt like poetry flowing through my skin. The cold and yet slippery feeling that I got when I went near the water as I went inside felt natural and good. I felt like I belonged with it. I dove soon into the sea where I felt like i belonged. the swishy feeling of my legs comforted me as I dove; the water with my closed eyes coming up into my face to swarm in and greet me…. I swam up into the pale moonlight and felt the wind surround me. The palest blue was upon the moon and the water was pitch black. I waded towards the deep and enough to my surprise, a swirl of fish came to my feet and dashed to and for between my legs, Some silver and some clearly gold. I gently flew out of the water feeling the cold air surround me once more; the soles of my feet felt the air to the tips of my toes. I glided to a nearby pond and dried off. From there I became tired and slept in the tall grass. nearly daylight , i felt a warm breeze upon my cheek and felt someone gently pick me up… Underneathe a very solid and warm body I simply noticed that it was a male who had carried me. His strong, firm hands were slender and masculine up to his skin.His skin the colour of milk and his body soft and slender as a child’s, his hair jet black and his eyes the colour of evergreen and sapphire blue. As i woke he was holding me right beside him, kissing me, gently caressing my hair as he gently kissed me on my forehead.He had the kindest eyes both blue and green and he had such a soft disposition with smooth lips. he gently touched my face with his right hand. I looked up at him and tried to and very politely he kissed me on my lips. I squirmed to get away but he pulled me closer with his right arm and started pulling off my garments with his left arm as he pulled me closer with his right and started pulling me on to him. I moaned in ecstacy and he started pulling my hair….kissing my neck adn pulling my hair with my head back.I never noticed as he pulled down his pants. His lips were grinding against mine and it was very hard but as I opened my mouth to kiss him back, i felt agony in him and I moaned and yelled in agonizing pants as I pulled my head back and pulled him closer with my arms and felt his body up his shirt with my hands…He was something I couldn’t stop kissing and he smelled like fresh cherries. He felt like something I couldn’t stop kissing.His shirt was wet and I was smothered by him with kisses as i tried to pull his shirt off….madly I was kissing him…his lips were soft and warm the moment ii pulled his shirt off ripping all of it. He threaded through my hair with his fingers and pulled me closer, caressing me and holding me. Kissing me gently and smoothly. As the daylight arose I awoke to a cloudy, gloomy morning and slipped on jeans and a shirt and got up for college. It felt strange that I would dream of nothing so reluctantly at night as to be gliding down towards water and then being kissed! As I got up to brush my teeth, after slipping on some jeans and a shirt, I remembered my dream and sure enough I knew I would miss it. i was dropped off to school after putting on my shoes before brushing my teeth during that summer and sure enough the same boy was in both my classes only with caucasian skin and beatle black eyes. it was a long time ago but since then I’ve been having these wierd dreams lately and usually it’s in water or it’s in the air. I could’ve recalled another dream but that was the least of my worries and in the dream i was released from fear and doubt in his arms.
What held me surprised was the dream that I was with him and that he was there the very next day of class. I felt very surprised that when he sat next to em I said hello to him and everything came down to him always sitting next to me. I asked him why he would want to sit next to me and he said I was interesting so I chuckled a bit and he just sat back. I guess in dreams, it meant something more, but in another world like this one, things aren’t like that. So he continued to sit next to me and I guess I made a new friend that day. Mysteriously charming, and quick-witted and always getting into fights over the smallest things and over girls who were down-trodden; he was my drifter in the wind. he was always alone but I always followed him around and he didn’t seem to mind it except for one time but in thee end he apologized for no reason because I followed him and for once he wouldn’t talk to me or even sit next to me. he is always nice, confident, but so scared and unsure of himself but generous and self-sufficient; my knight in shining armour. i wish i’d have told him then how I felt about him but it felt rude to say so. Now the loner and the drifter forever gone. His friends were cool but some of the girls were shy when talking to him. The mysterious bad boy who tried to find love in solace and aptitude but never in peace….This was something I wasn’t able to give him and maybe he gave me clarity so much that I even couldn’t handle being the peaceful one. I was never peaceful enough to give him anything so I tried giving him dollars to buy himself a drink. He seemed lonely so sometimes I’d just back off and let him be alone for awhile….He needed someone to listen so I’d listen. I guess he was a sensitive as a lamb behind his bad boy exterior. he reminds me of my clarity; my sanity and best off my winning streak….my luck. His mouth would always smirk into a curve whenever someone said a snide remark. But then again he’d usually walk away because of this bad feeling like he was going to punch someone or get into a fight. His eyes were so intense and hard as rocks and his skin was smooth. To me he was the best thing life could’ve offered. Looking back, everything in my past life wasn’t so great as him….Always mocking me, loving me. Cherishing me. Bathing me in his sight of glory.