Overcast and grey. Nothing in my view but the industry and swamps. It is hot and humid, but calm. The darker clouds begin to move in over the huge oil tanks and factories. A 747 flies over, looking for shelter at the airport. The rain begins slowly as the traffic crawls along. The lyrics of the song on the radio match the scene:

“Welcome my son,
Welcome to the machine.
Where have you been?
It’s alright we know where you’ve been.
You’ve been in the pipeline,
filling your time…”

Just another summer day in New Jersey.

He sits reading his book, far away from all conversation. His hands are scarred and rough from his life. His face is unshaven and expressionless. He gets up to sign in, a daily routine. The clothes he wears are dark, worn, and old. His eyes are barely open as he flips another page in his book. His home away from home is the A&P. His hard work leads to money, but it also takes a toll on him. There are bags under his eyes and he slouches, too tired to even sit up.

On a Dark Desert Highway


Jimmy drove down the highway. He saw a man walking alone.
“You need a ride?”
“Sure.”
As he got in, the radio blurted out, “Be on look out for murderer. He is a white male with a scar over his right eye.”
Jimmy turned to see the scarred face staring back with an evil grin.

The Axeman

In his youth he began.
Only a child when he first wielded
His mighty axe.

He became better
He grew older
His fingers worked faster

Always learning,
He craved knowledge.
Always trying to be better.

He joined a Prince of Darkness
And continued his journey to the top
To become one of the greatest.

But this journey was cut short;
By the fires of Hell itself.
He was struck down.

The hero fell,
But his legacy lives on.
Others follow his path,
But no one could ever replace him.

The Nightmare
After a painting by Henry Fuseli


A shriek in the night
The incubus adds another victim
To his long, long list.

On a black steed he rides
Through the darkness
Into the town
Where his next victim awaits

But wait,
What’s this?
As he sneaks into another young girl’s room,
He is suddenly stopped.

The priest appears,
Crucifix in hand.
And drenches the demon
With blessed water

The incubus screams in pain
As his body begins to deteriorate
He is sent back to Hell
For now…

The Art of War

Red and black.
Blood runs over
Scorched earth.

The sky turns grey,
As smoke rises
From burning corpses.

The artists paint.
The land is the canvas.
Their guns the brushes.

The second horsmen rides;
In his wake are death and destruction
As his steed tramples the earth.

In the distance,
A sudden flash of light.
Instantly, the world turns bright orange.

As the light fades,
Nothing is left standing,
Except for the sins of many.

The sky darkens.
The sun no longer shines
On this barren wasteland.

On the wind,
There are whispers
From the fallen.

The painting is complete...

No More

I won't hurt anymore
I will forget
I will enjoy life with out her
I don't need her

Just forget about her
I don't need to deal with it
It just leads to more problems
These words I say in denial

Give it time
It will hurt again
There is no escaping the pain
Only temporary relief