In the darkness,
We saw light,
And in that despair,
That we found ourselves,
We called it hope…


They say suicide is painless.
Maybe for those who decide to take their own life, but definitely not for those left behind in the land of the living.

And it is not an easy choice for those who find themselves in that dark place.

I have found myself in that hell, brought there by bouts with depression.

I was ready to take that trip behind that curtain that seperates life from death.

Events in my life brought me to that point.

A knife at my wrist as I stood at the kitchen sink.

I had just lost the love of my life, my wife, my soul mate, an event I would not wish on my worst enemy.

A week after her death, I stood there at the sink in my apartment and thought how easy it would be to slit my wrists, to end that pain I found myself in.

No one would find me for days.

No one would know.

I was that close.

The only thing that stopped me was it would be my sister-in-law who would find my body.

I could not do it.

My sister-in-law had just lost her sister.

I did not want to cause her anymore pain.

I put the knife away.

But, there, in that moment, there was that chance, the thoughts that no one would care or miss me, thoughts that still drift in even to this day.

I can see why others would take their own life, not as a selfish act, but as a way out, to escape from that deep dark pit.

Each person’s reason why is different.

No one will truly understand why.

“They seemed so happy…”

We all wear masks.

I know I do.

I build high walls, set up barricades, to hide myself from the world.

“I’m happy…” I lie, faking a smile through my mask.

A lot of people make it through life this way.

“They seemed…”

Fake laugh.

Real tears.

That pain, deep down from inside, trying to escape.

And when they are alone, the mask removed, they sit there in the darkness, the demons taunting.

“You are worthless!”

“Nobody loves you!”

“Nobody cares!”

The demons dance around.


And soon, they win.

“They…happy…how?” People will stammer.

The rich, the poor the demons do not care, they do not play favorites.

“But…they had money! Fame! They should have been happy!”

Money nor fame buys happiness.

Even the rich and famous build walls and wear masks.

No answers will be found as to the why.

Maybe it was an escape from that pain, the only feasible solution in their mind.

And down that road they went, that escape, leaving those who loved them, in pain, asking why.

Were they selfish?


They were just tired.

They needed to lie down, mask off, in the green grass, an escape from the pain, to wait for those left behind in the living, to meet them behind that curtain that divides life from death.


Why did we fall? A POEM

Posted: June 20, 2018 in Uncategorized

Why did we fall,
Why did we fall apart,
Into the burning sun,
Into the sea,
To never dream,
To sink away,
Why did we fall,
Fall to pieces?

Like broken glasses,
On tender skin,
Ripping apart,
Tender flesh.
Angels falling,
From the sky,
Into madness.

Why did we fall,
Why did we fall apart?

Heaven above,.
Streets below,
Nobody knows,
Dreams can,
Last forever.

Why did,
We fall in love,
Why did we last forever,

In a dream,
Last forever!!

Author note: this piece came to me while I was listening to a song called Spinning our wheels by Sloan.

More that the instrumental of the song brought these words to me more than the lyrics. 

Why can’t I be loved,
In a world full of love songs?
Why can’t it be so easy,
Like it is on TV?

And why do I need,
To feel?
Tell me.
I’m on my knees,
Why do I need love?

I am walking,
Why do I need you,
To say,
I love you?

Please, tell me,
Is it all worth it?
Or is it all a dream?
Just some fantasy?

Why can’t I be loved?
Am I suppose to be?
Or is it just a dream,
I see?

I want to know,
If I should,
Just give it up,
This dream,
This fantasy.

Why should I need,
To feel this need,
To hear,
You say,
I love you?

Can it be true,
This dream,
Of you,
And me,

Can I hear you,
On the phone,
Whispering to me,
Like they do on TV,

Author’s notes: I began writing the adventures in Silvermynx many moons ago, and for some reason I can never complete.

This piece I wrote over the last few days, the beginning of a history of this great land.


…In the beginning, there was nothing, and the Gods were bored, so for their amusement they did create everything, and they named this world, Silvermynx…

And the sword swung into the body, cutting the soul from the boys who thought they were men, still virgins, barely kissed a paid ladies of the night, now finding themselves at the River Tyre,the ferryman ready to transport them to that eternal rest, J’Hal, that final sleep from which none wake.

The sky was filled with dragons, their ryders piloted them into seemingly death spirals, pulling up seconds before smashing into the ground.

The battle, The War of the Seven Suns, lasted for seven generations, killing most of the seven families, the last, D’Shakar, still rules the terrible wastelands, the land of the walking dead, S’kalara, the spirits who can find no rest, warriors, those sinners from a previous life, forced to fight forever.

That city to the west, Chalara, the City with no life, sat in the middle of the wastelands.

And there, on a throne made of bones, those enemies who dare try to revolt, was King J’Kalara, Lord of Death, dark wizard, Master of the Seven Suns, destroyer of the world.

His queen, Lady Sarahe of the Family Drago, sat to his right, in precise setting of the star Drago, her womb barren except for snakes and dust.

The children of J’Kalara were made from the clay of the Red River, soulless beasts of fire from the great volcanoes, those nameless places, where no man could go but J’Kalara had travelled many times.

In guilded halls, Masters did scheme, evil souls, and slaves did revolt, secretly.

Traitors, the lot, to the king, the ruler of the dead.

J’Kalara knew, he played with his prey, how they did pray to the ancient Gods, before his guards slit their throats, ears to ears and fed their bodies to the wolves, so their souls would not know rest, to wander this earth in pursuit of that rest.

Their eyes were plucked, ripped, from their sockets, so they would wander their journey blindly, never knowing peace.

Their tongues cut from their mouths so their souls could not speak.

They cut off their cocks and shoved them in the deads’ mouths, for no other reason than to do it for spite.


...In Gods’ eyes, they shall not know life…cursed forever, to be worthless unjudged wandering souls, Kast, no one shall remember their names, their life striken from the Book of Guilds, never to be spoken of again.

Their rings of the clans shall be melted down and then poured onto the ground, to be lost from the Goddess’ grip, She shall not weep for these souls, Mother of all shall not mourn their loss…

This is the punishment for traitors, for thieves, and other villians to their clans.

Only one man, King J’Kalara, of No Clan, the Dark Soul, had escaped this punishment of denouncing his Sha, his Queen, his Sister by blood.

He escaped under the protection of his dragon, and made it to these wastelands, first as its champion gladiator, then protector, then its king.

“Ja Sal!” The One, his followers screamed in joy, to lead them into power over the Seven Clans.

His armies would march, against the Gods themselves, no service to any God but himself.

The cities of Unicorn fell first, laid waste in a hundred days, down to even the last child they slayed, performing Kast on each of them in shrill delight.

They raped the great city of Lar’s Sha, Queen Rama and then with such hatred ripped her unborn child from her womb and threw it into the River Tyre, that great red river, the river of death.

That child did not die, he was protected by the Spirit, Wolf, who sent him down the river to the Dragon Clan, to be found by a maiden to Sha, Queen Alandea, who in vision from Wolf, raised him as her own, to be that protector of the Dragon Clan.

To be fair in this telling, in lineage, Queen Alandea was, by birth, twins to be honest and in truth, the sister to J’Kalara, the demon God moving across the kingdoms with his undead army.

Alandea named the child La, after her father, 1st son to Alandea, Prince by Birth and by right and by her law, it was true.

And here is where the s

tory of The War begins.

And mayhaps end, if it is to be…

From that dream that we wake,
To pursue,
In angry rush,
Feet dare not touch the ground,
Into sweet embrace,
To feel the knives against the flesh,
To feel that blade dig into skin,
Wandering through blistering deserts,
Not seeing that which is in front of our faces.
To not hear the deafening blares.

To cry,
To pound the fist into the earth.
To die,
To fly,
To lie,
To be,
To see the sun,
To break the sky,
To hear the angels’ songs,
Break free,
To see the brilliant moon,
Rising from the sea,
To skirt the heavens’ stares.

I saw,
I seen,
The forest,
Through the trees,
Cosmic sex,
On the beach,
Madness touch,
Insanity again,
To hear,
That roar,
The ocean’s breaking waves.

In the house,
The fires rage,
To drink that sweet wine,
Wandering minds,
In cosmic lies,
In heat.

To sacrifice,
In rage,
Die against life,
To feel,
One last embrace.

SHIT – Memories lost – A Poem

I am losing my mind.

I realize.

Not a good place, I know,
I might be high.

Slowly, at first,
Trying to remember,
Hold onto pieces,
A typewriter dinging,
Page end,
To become young once again.

That is the beginning of the piece,
The end I cannot see,
Possibly over this next hill.
Down this ravine?

Drift in,
Drift out,
Wandering pleasently through bogs of shi…
Can I say shit?
Should I say shit?

What is today’s date?

Are we leaving a good world?

Will anyone care when we leave this mortal plane?

There on the mountain,
Or was it all a dream?
Was this life a dream?


Maybe it was,
Maybe it is,
All a dream,
Wake up,
You dreaming fuck,
World explodes,
Impossible things,
Is there a Heaven?
Hell is being trapped in this meat case,
Losing your mind,
One memory at a time,
Depressed to the point,
But fade away again,
Into mindless wanderings,
Into darkness.



There before the storm,
Madness rage,
In peaceful pain,
A reminder,
To us,
That we still live.

Fathers tell their children lies,
It ain’t that great,
To grow old inside.

Moving past,
Places we went,
Past lovers,
Now swept into graves.

What time is it?


A clean razor,
There in the sink,
Reminds us,
Should we shave?




Who are you?

Who am I?




I cannot run,
There is no forest,
Through the trees,
Can we go back,
To a time,
To hold your hand,
To kiss,
A park,
In bloom,


Walking through a dream.

A nightmare possibly.

Mindful of that being,
But lost,
Memories will pass,
Not written down,
In fear,
That someone will read,
To discover,
That shame,
Buried in a bog,
Never to be known,
Except by those,
To read,
To love,
To hate,
To give up.


There, peace,
The nurse,
Walking down the hall,
She stops,
Comes in.
Good day,
Are you fine?

I don’t reply.


She sticks me.


Dreamless sleep,
For tonight,
To arise,
To not remember,
Down the hall.
Door slams.
Trapped inside,
This meat bag.
Wanting to cry,
But only laugh.


Notes – I wrote this back in 1994.

I was ready to graduate from college, to start a new adventure in this thing called life.

But I was leaving my online life, a place called Usenet, where I was The Shadow, a misfit in the land of ones and zeros, a place I wouldn’t return to until 1998 and still reside in a different form.



Deep thoughts,
Regained passions,
Lost long ago.

Deep rooted,
Into mindless activities.

Energy released,
A large explosion,
Bright lights,
Nothing more.
Suicidal thoughts,
In a suicidal society,
With nobody there,
The voices of pain.

The last fight is fought,
With no victors.
The last song is sung,
With no choir.

A child crying,
In a street full of waste,
The passerbys,
Do look in shame,
But they think to themselves,
It is not,
My problem,
Let the other fellow do what he can.

The ever confusion in deep
Rooted hate,
That last fight is fought,
With passions of old and nobody cares if they win or if they lose.

But only if they survive.

My last breath is spent,
I feel no pain,
No fears.
May our paths cross again in a better world.
So I must go and join the ones who have gone before,
But as the small child who died in
the streets,
Care not for I have gone onto better
lands and will be there waiting until you too pass from this retched world.