creative, death, excerpt, Life, messed, self portrait, Short story, words to live by, writers, writing

Fence post. Barbed Wire. Fence post. Barbed wire.
Flashes, flashes, and more flashes. Nothing concrete but those two images. Blurring together, creating an old fashioned movie reel playing through my head.
Nothing-ness. Blackness, utter confusion.
Are those…what happened?
I bring my hand up to my face, my eyes barely able to focus. Blood is dripping down my arm, bright crimson against alabaster.
I look down. Slices. Slices upon more slices.Tattered fabric, tattered skin. The stark white of the dermis. I loved this shirt. This shirt held good memories…now it’s gone. Like the piece of flesh I left on the wire.
Wait…I wasn’t alone. I’m not alone. Where is she?
“ARE YOU OKAY?” I scream out, finding the huddled figure of my friend.
“Ow…errrg…I’m okay!”
Tunnel vision. Am I under water? I think I need a hospital.
Frantic eyes, darting every which way. How will I get out of here? Help…I need help.
“Help!” I scream out, praying the only other person in these acres of land can hear me. “Help, please!”
After what seems like ages, and more inspection of my battered body…they show up.
“Jesus, what the hell happened?”
I try to recall. I was driving the machine…up and up and up the hill. Turn, a sharp turn. I took the turn wrong? Giant rock, avoidance. Fence post. Barbed wire. Fence Post. Barbed Wire.
What happened? What the fuck happened? Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming because I can see my own body jumping off the faulty equiptment and getting tangled in the thorny wires. Did I? I shake my head, clearing the memory, vision.
“Let’s get you guys out of here. I can take you home.”
Home…”Home? We need a hospital. I’m bleeding and I’m cold.”
They shake their head. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
I’m attempting to walk, but the ground is spinning.
This is the moment, I think. This is the moment that will impact every other moment from here until forever.
It did. It still does.


Him, Her

author, beautiful, controversey, controversial, messed, Uncategorized

So, I actually wrote a poem today. I know it’s usually Collin’s thing…but you know! Got to branch out sometimes. Although this one is pretty far out there, if you like things a little more racy. I was inspired by a friends illustrations and wrote this for her and decided to share with you guys. Enjoy.


The silk of her skin,
Garter belts,
The heat of her breath,
The burn of his beard,
A red tie,
The rough pads of his fingers,
A dark wood desk,
Heated moments,
An auditorium,
Secret memories,
A thick hard cover book,
Taboo desires,
The smell of fresh chalk,
Beautiful Catastrophe.

A little something

messed, shortstory, writing

The tear that leaks from my eye feels like a lie. Am I crying because I care? Or is that just what is deemed socially acceptable in this situation? Can psychopaths feel? I’ve been told my whole life that this wasn’t possible. That I lacked the ability to love, to empathize. So why is it now that my so called emotions are bleeding into a physical response? My heart clenches in my chest. I don’t seem to have any control over my reactions.

She shivers, her lip quivering. I want so bad to reach out and touch that lip with my finger, to pull it away from her teeth as they dig into her plump, rosy flesh. But I don’t. Sexual attraction is one thing I do feel, but it doesn’t feel right in this moment. Her shoulders are hunched, spasming with her sobs.

“Please, Jacob, don’t leave me. Don’t do this. I know we can fight this, together. I love you.” She nearly shrieks. Her bloodshot eyes try to seek mine out, but I deny them. The familiar desire starts building within me, hearing her cries and wails. Watching her become the vulnerable and weak version of herself. So different from the woman I met as a child. When my impulses were so fragile, undetermined. But I’m a man now, and I know what I want.

As much as I want to love her, to make her mine…I’d rather kill her. And that’s why we’ll never work. I have to leave now before I drain her of her life force and take it within myself.

“It’s over.” I love you, I think. The only time I’ve ever had that thought.

I walk away, wiping the one and only tear I’ve ever shed. I pull my hood over my head, hiding the human part of myself and embracing the monster. It’s time to hunt, before I turn the woman I love into my prey.