Short Story: Losing the Past

It looks to be falling apart. I'll have to change tin a day; the way that I smoke, the way I relate, the number of laundry I clean. Still starving, but now "they" are taking my joys.
The last addictions I have. Why can't I keep them intact? They seem to me harmless, medicinal even. I don't know how to live without them.
It's not enough for me to be brought so low. To steal the last of my inner child's candy. I must also learn how to be around others who do not go without. Be around them, love them, live with them... live with them, without anger or envy. Without self-pity, competition, hurt, defense, manipulation, or beggary.
Ah beggary, how could I be without thee? To mooch and couch-surf. To bum and to find. These have been my way for far too long. I was still running, while others staked out land; cleared it and built homes. I was away running.
Now I find myself old, unable to afford sugar, remembering the cartoon I saw as a child: About a wolf who did no work, always begging from the hard-working pig. Always lazy, never working, the wolf always starved a little in the winter. But what when there is no pig? The pig gets tired of feeding him.
That cartoon always haunted me, like I could feel my future reflected in it...

As an adult, now, I can confirm that haunted feeling was right.

Poem: The Things I've Loved

The first thing I ever loved was a pet;
It died before I ever realized.

The second thing I ever loved
was a man;
He left me for a woman,
before I knew
our time was up.

The third thing I ever loved
was a pain-killing drug;
It hurt me more,
than I'd ever
have guessed.
I left it before
it killed me.

The fourth thing I ever loved
was a young woman;
I hurt her more
than I'd ever
have guessed.
She left because
I told her to.

The fifth thing I ever loved
was Coffee;
It's hurting my stomach
so much
I'll have to quit.

The sixth thing I ever loved
was Tobacco;
It's hurting my lungs
so much
I'll have to quit.

The seventh thing I ever loved
was a woman;
She loved herself
more
than she loved me.

The things I love
haven't treated me well;

I guess I'll just stop

and rest

a spell.

Poem: Fake Friends

Those people are dead to me now.
Burned up in a moment of rage.
No love or forgiveness,
for one such as me,
though why I don't know,
I deserve it.

When sides become chosen
there's no one on mine,
just me,
and the ghost of my thoughts
for all time.

Paper-thin all my friendships,
dissolved in an instant,
I cry for connection that deeper,
but where is it?

At first comes regret, then shame, embarassment.
Self-Pity, depression, acceptance.
Then back-sliding, attempts to fix,
and apologies, realization
that there is no going back
for me.

The hate and disgust
my peers feel for me,
like metal gone rust
stuck out in the rain.

If only they knew
my true feelings inside,
they'd love me the most,
not cast me aside.

But that's just a dream
and reality sticks.
Alone in my pain,
all my "friends" are short-lived.

Forgiveness and warmth
are feelings unknown:
Not given, not seen,
no calls on my phone.

For a few angry words
is enough to destroy
all semblance of friendship
for this little boy.

Al that this proves is
the hate all along.
I never was loved,
it's been faked,
an illusion.

And so I grow older
and learn the hard truths.
It's better to be unknown
than known as uncouth.

Poem: Old Friend Mike

A friend that I had
he turned out quite bad,
though I've known him
since his very start.

Once brothers in faith,
he smiles to my face,
in private he tears me apart.

While spreading sick rumors,
I don't understand,
his cowardly gossip,
that slanders this man.

It must be because
I never began,
to fuck him,
or view him,
with awe.

The lies that he spread
awoke pain in my head,
confusion,
at malice so cruel.

Small network of friends,
I thought true to the end,
kicked me
in the gut
like a mule.

So now here I stand,
just like I began,
alone,
with my Angel
and God.

I know all those who lie,
will sure one day die,
and answer for sins,
one and all.

Poem: Insomnia #17 (Mother's Day)

No sleep.
Big Jeep.
Fat sheep.
Food cheap.

Cold air,
feels fair.
Go where?
Nowhere.

Mother's Day.
Little pay.
Friend's gay,
Says "hey."

Feel OK.
Another day.
Which way?
Mid May.

Poem: Rhibald Othello

The Selfish Swine
I love all the time
cares not
for my sleep
or my food.

Her only concern
is her cigarettes burn
and the swell of her
all-changing mood.

My pain doesn't move her,
my words come out silent.
Continuing hubris
that strikes me
like violence.

While owning the World,
she spits on this bum.
Distorting my heart-ache
and sucking her thumb.

Poem: The Heroes of Justice

The Heroes of Justice,
chuckling, drinking coffee.
The masses of Animals,
Human-Animals,
locked up
only ten feet away
behind a wall
no one can see.

The Heroes of Justice
no longer believe,
only "doing their best"
and sometimes
not that.

The Animals who used to feel
Human.
The Heroes who once wanted
to feel Heroic.
Neither like their position.

Between them;
The Parasites.
Bail Bondsmen, Courts,
Lawyers, and worse.
Fake lawyers
who pretend
to be
on your side
and you never
suspect
they are not
until it's over.
And you lost.

Justice the Blind Woman,
with a sword and a scale,
She rules here no more.
Dead, raped, and defiled,
cold corpse on the floor.

The Heroes of Justice
eat lunch.
While the Animal-Humans
starve.

Man's cruelty knows no end,
often hides itself,
from itself.

Thus The Poison attains
a strangle hold
on Life.