Monsters

You spend years hoping for someone to love, and there are those just waiting for you out there, people who hide the fangs and sharp talons in their skin bag garbs. Those people, some would call them people, are the true monsters that hide under your bed, behind the curtains, in the dark corners. They await a chance to sink their teeth in, to rip you apart, because they don't know better. Animals, they are no better than animals. All they know is pain and carnal pleasure, it is all they seek. This planet just happens to be inundated by them right now, they are all over. It is hard to imagine a world free of them, it is impossible. They are what nightmares are made of, they are the creatures that you have feared your entire childhood, the true inspirations for the vampire and werewolf, they are sociopathic, killers, and would eat you whole if given the chance.

So don't give them the chance, don't allow them in. Who are they? How can you tell? I pray you tell, for I cannot show you the way, I have only just started to realise the dangerous beings that roam in the darkness, seen their eyes, felt their teeth, lost a limb or two to them. I am just here to warn you, beware.

"No, sabe que? Todo bien." Ella dijo.

It is a brand new day!
Gracias por las lecciones
De nada por las lecciones
I loved every minute inside you

De tus ojos
Y aun asi
me hayas dejado
quemando por dentro,

Estoy feliz.
I am happy,
because it didn't feel right
towards the end there.

It became something of a joke,
My love for you.
Que Dios os bendiga a los pecadores
Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte,

Amen!

Que sigamos resando
por perdones ajenos, queriendo
momentos prestados
nunca devueltos.

Cambio de papeles
Click Click Click Click
Alma capturada digitalmente
The Ghost In The Shell, it

Whispers sweet nothings
to an ear eager to please, just then
emotions become toys
la lengua en la oreja.

There is something to be ware of:
Te ame.
Verdaderamente lo hice,
pero eso fue, y no sera.

En el nombre del Padre,
del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo.

Eviceral

That moment when you feel something cold and distant in your bones, when the pit of your stomach falls to depths unknown, and all you can do is watch processions of emotions crawling their way down your throat.


Eviceral.

On Moons and other stuff.

Time weighs heavy and yet people still dance to old routines. It would be nice to actually find someone "different" for a change, all the wrong echoes, all the wrong flags, and the blind following on the tail of the devil. M-O-O-N: that spells torture, a Chinese finger trap and a packet of fags, don't get smoke in your eye.

Good Ridance

I guess it's futile. You say I don't know my feelings, well I know my emotions well enough to be able to shut them off if needed be. Sadly, they are a sort of fuel, for living. I asked jim how you were. Because I have known him for many many years, and he's been like a father to me in many instances. You don't talk to me, you're cryptic, you push everyone away, and all I wanted was to know how you actually were. You claim that I am a pagan, but I don't worship anything, or anyone, or any names. I don't know where you get this shit from. I guess you must be high on some shit, which happens. I'm tired of talking to you and always getting illegible messages because you're too fucked up to type. This worries me. I don't want to worry about you, you're a grown woman who is killing herself. Not my fucking problem, and I'm sorry I made it so. Because I don't need your baggage. So I thank you for flipping out, because I didn't know how to push you away. I am sorry because of the human being that resides in you, but I can't let your shit get to me. As much as I want to help you, I cannot and shouldn't, for until you want to help yourself, there is no point. I don't know what else to say, but I hope you get well.

On depression

So the thing about depression is that you can never really leave it behind. No matter what you are doing there it is, no matter how hard you pretend there is always something hiding behind eyes that once ached to see the world which turns them towards the dark and only want to sleep. In fear of sounding like some over sensitive idiot I tend to stop writing mid sentence, but that's only because of a series of social stigmas implanted by schooling and television, ex's, people who often drift through your life, which dictate that expressing emotion is wrong and shouldn't be done. Well, sometimes we stop caring enough to actually put something down on paper, or a digital format to be viewed by others. Maybe to help, maybe to vent, or it could just be to help the ego.

It just hides back there, in the darkest little parts of the mind. Any moment and every moment you spend on your own is a moment it gets to reach out further into your soul(?) and pulls it apart. So far, 28 years have passed through me and each and every year since I recognized this, it keeps happening. Sometimes the happiness lasts enough to let me see some sort of opening ahead, but just then the depression comes back and drags me back into the bush, away from reason and the ability to contain one self. As of recent one thing had kept me going, and it was as selfish as it could be. Being selfish after all, is but a lingering string that lets us find the way out, or sometimes even deeper into the woods. It really does often feel as if there is nothing one can do, that this is an end of sorts.

Covering up the wounds has become second nature, smile at the passing professors, the fellow students. Every once in a while you run into others who are pretending just like you. Something calls you to them, there is an inherent need to be near them but... it's never going to go into fruition, damaged goods and damaged goods probably shouldn't be together. Then again, in the pit everything seems like a bad idea, even the best of things that could help one move forward in life. There is nothing like depression to bring you to a dead stop, literally.

Drugs. Never had any experience with anti-depressants except for one bout where a doctor prescribed some wellbutrin to help with the cigarettes. They didn't do very well, still smoked. Ended up dropping the meds, it just didn't feel right. Alcohol has always been a friend, although sometimes it seems like the kind of friend that is willing to stab you in the back at any moment, a real cunt. Cocaine and other "hard drugs" are just that, hard. It's like getting fucked in the ass by a large prison inmate. Feels great at the moment, you enjoy yourself and even cum a little, but afterwards you feel dirty, used, and like your ass is going to explode. It's a real fucking trip. Marijuana is the only thing that has helped to keep it leveled. It lets some happiness in, reminds you that it's alright. Too bad it's as illegal as it is around here, nothing like having the government tell you that you have to get their sanctioned anti-depressants which might kill you instead of smoking a plant which grows from the ground. And people wonder why I'm so fucking depressed.

I was about to write some great paragraph about how people can be there and help you but, it's all a fucking joke. People only make it worse, you start to depend on some cunt of a friend and next thing you know they are just another notch on the post of souls to be avoided. Real fucking hypocrites whose only need for you is to justify their existence, be it with words or my dick. There is nothing like fucking a corpse, someone you know is already dead or dying in the great scheme of your life. Good-bye, it was nice knowing you, don't mind the load I've left in your "tunnel of love." There is something wrong with me, and all I know is that I'm the only one who can deal with it. I'll stick to my drugs, to my loneliness, to a sort of conventional mind fuck trip, a trivial yet ergonomic existence with the way in which the world has treated me. A real fuck you to the stars and to the heavens. There is nothing holding me back, so I feel like I can do anything, even if it's writing about my sadness, depression, about the small moments that add up to nothing, about the love felt and ignored. Because no one is going to read this and thing "gee, he had a point." They'll only think "what a sap, glad he never made it."

Possibilities are endless, but tell that to a corpse.

In the moments between sleep

with the shades drawn and

allowing just glimmers of sunlit

reflections of an everlasting green

that seeps its way onto walls

well known and forgotten,

breaths escape from lips

which are too tired for anything or anyone.

In between the covers

there is a corpse,

or soon to be at least,

and as a mind winds down to moments

captured and preserved

in formaldehyde filled jars

stacked around the room,

the realization strikes

that these memories

just don't taste the way they used to,

a realization made

as this bed which was

kinder to passions untold

becomes a coffin

once the covers wrap around

to keep and swallow whole

in the warmth and knowledge

of being dead to the world.

Dead to SourGirl.

Second round of publications

This is my second time being published in the publication P'an Ku, a bi-yearly publication for Broward College.

The Needle

Every time the needle tears through her flesh

to find that jumbled mess she likes to call a vein

it is her soul which slowly seeps out in amber drops

down her arm, pressure tied off by a tourniquet.

In order to forget the pain left behind by heavy hands

to extinguish flames burning so bright

that only the milky waters of the river Alf

may extinguish her core in an explosion

of eternal ecstasy
an orgasm
meant to last an eternity

but only felt for a few minutes

because nothing is eternal,

only pain is.

He wanted to hold her but he knew she was not aware

of her nature and way of being.

That her own life was inundated with the facts

that she was not like the rest of them

and quite aware she still pushed away

those who understood and were willing to help

to understand how life can be and is, 'cos

when the world is a jigsaw you need to put it together.

He knew what she was and it scared her

he saw through her skin

onto the punctured veins

and it scarred her.

It never ceased to amaze him
her beauty eternal

the way eyes glowed in the light of the moon

tender fingers ran over scar tissue

soft kisses invaded her body

as he gave of himself to her.

Because it is no the way we think it is

not as if life has everything set up.

it is chaos in a civilized society

set up to illuminate the cauldrons of reality

with the hearth of hearts
beating strongly against one another

as she soaks her panties under her clothes

he grows inside his boxer shorts

both kissing on a couch

late at night

as her hair falls over his face

and she pulls upon his dreads.

 She drags him to the bedroom

and takes her pants off

as he grabs her from behind and with one hand

buried in her crotch

feels the rivers of love flowing fast

his cock jumps
she grabs it behind her

squeezing as it pulses, she turns around

penetrates his mouth with her tongue.

She sit's back onto the bed

legs spread, one hand saying

"Hither forth."

He kneels in front of her and kisses freckles

upon her face

neck

breasts

stomach

thighs

ankles

feet

legs

thighs

pelvis

he then swims into her

lashing his tongue

she thrusts herself onto him.

The needle comes out

it penetrates her vein

and the water of life pours into her

an orgasmic overflow

she caresses the shaft of her syringe

feels the pain and the memory go away.

Kochira wa Geinin.

we all play parts in the greatest play
parts we often choose
but more often than not
just happen to fall into.
it's not so easy to walk away
to pretend we never wanted them
being a savior
a lover
a simple person
or even that one to take care of you
because sometimes we need to be
in charge of something
even if it's just playing our part right.
congregations of actors
all meet on the stage
and life begins a new
each and every day
listen closely
and sometimes you can catch
the slip of a line here and there
not every play is perfect
but when it is some call it fate.
I tried to play a part once or twice
but my co-stars never seem to get it right
flawed that I am
it must rub off on them
or at least it seems to.
I will never know the truth of the matter
for they are elsewhere now
on another chapter
reading another line
to someone who is playing a part
willing to be that one
who makes believe
without missing a beat
on the stage of life.

Burnt Marshmallow

"Wretched night" are the words that escape his lips. Walking through the back alleys of the town, garbage lines the side of the buildings, some of it is made up like homes for the indigents and lost. Each step gets heavier and heavier with the passing of time, he needs his fix. Finally at his destination, a man in baggy clothes and baseball cap with shinny stickers on it looks him over.

"What will it be?" He knows his costumers by the visage of death drawn upon their beings.

"I just need the usual... It's been a long night." A stack of singles and fives is passed from one to the other, and as soon as it is counted a bag containing tiny blue pills is exchanged.

"See you soon."

----

When he gets back to his apartment she is waiting on the dirty old couch, a thing full of smells and stains that remark the past 2 years as if they'd been decades. Her thin lips are dry and chalked, a crust under her nose and bags under the eyes makes it hard to remember what she looked like before it all started. He puts his coat on the back of the door, and crunching past plastic cups and caps that litter the hallway he scratches at his head. Thin arms and even thinner wrists still manage to gather the tools of their addiction. Straws, tin foil, and a couple of lighters of which he can't recall if they are dead or not.

"What took so long?" she asks as her head wobbles, trying to sit up. He makes room for himself on the edge of the couch as he clears some of the table by tossing a heap of garbage to the floor.

"I was just thinking, maybe we ought to get out of here soon. I mean, like... get out of here, this town, start new somewhere else." He opens the baggie and takes two pills out, rips two pieces of tinfoil, and passes one of each to her. She grabs a straw and lighter just as he does and places the pill on the metallic surface. With the straw in her mouth she begins to burn the underside of the tinfoil, a smoldering crackling is emitted from the pill as it heats up and starts to smoke, she suctions the white smoke as the smell of burnt marshmallow fills the room. He follows suit.

As the pill melts, it moves on the tinfoil, making a dark spiral as it travels on the surface of the heated metal. Their lungs absorbing the opiate and eyes widening, this is what their life has become. After two more pills they lay back and hold one another.

"I think it would be a good idea." Her hair is oily from lack of washing, she tucks it behind her ears. Pimples are sprouting like mountains across her unwashed face. When was the last time they washed? They can't remember, the bathroom is only used to defecate once every couple of days, and maybe to throw up in more often than anything else. The shower is seldom used. "I'm tired of this place, the people are horrible."

Sustaining his head like a helium balloon that has grown too heavy, he comes in and out of consciousnesses unable to talk. They both fall asleep on the couch.

-----

Sunlight. It's warmth is heating up their faces, it awakens him. She's still asleep. Getting up he feels his bones crack, falling asleep on the couch is no good for them, but he doesn't notice after a fix or two. Once in the kitchen he pours himself some water in a cup that's been sitting by the sink for who knows how many days, weeks even. After gulping it down he opens the fridge to find it empty. The last of the food stamp money had been spent on their current stash, selling them had become yet another habit meant to sustain their addiction. He serves more water and drinks it down.

Sitting on the couch he sets up another piece of tinfoil, the roll is still new and has quite a bit of the shinny paper on it. He shakes the lighter to make sure it's still got fuel, placing another pill on top he lights up. She awakens as he blows smoke on her face.

"What... oh... here..." she grabs for the paper and straw as he lights it for her. This is how every morning is spent.

"We need more money, we'll be out by tonight." His voice shakes a little, she knows what he meas.

"Alright, I'll call Hue. I'm sure he could use some release." She inhales, and holds it. Again, burnt marshmallows fill the air.

-----

She's dressed up, unshowered, but dressed up. Her skinny legs are nothing like they used to be. Once upon a time she ran every morning before going to work at the restaurant, her figure was envied, her beauty was obscene. Every man wanted her, and she knew it. Now she's just another corpse walking the street.

"Hue is coming soon, you'll have to go wait outside. Can you head over to John's and see if he can hook us up with some pot? Tell him he can come by for the money later." She's applying lipstick to her chapped lips, a bit of eye shadow, and some flush takes away the look of death. She almost looks normal, but there is something about addiction you can never hide.

"Alright." It's all he says. He gets up and walks to the door, grabs his jacket and just as he's about to close the door she says to him:

"I love you!"

"I love you too babe... call John's when you are done." He walks down the stairs and runs into Hue, he's a tall blonde man, wearing glasses as usual. He's married, but likes to get his kicks elsewhere just like everyone else. He's never asked her just what he does that he has to go somewhere else to find it besides home, he doesn't care. Hue doesn't know who he is.

-----

John's house is five minutes from the apartment, it is an old house filled with old newspapers and an array of stuff which could be easily thrown out, but John just can't seem to part with it. It reminds him of his parent's, he says. They saved all of this stuff, and now it just happened to be his watch over it, having them both gone this was the only thing they'd left behind. A house full of garbage. He knocks on the door.

"Come on in!" John screams from within. Opening the door with his think fingers, he hears the rustling of the dog as it's running towards the door. It's an old pit bull with barely any teeth left, a very lovable old dog.

"So what's up?" John is rolling a blunt, he always has pot.

"Not much, Lucy is working a job so I thought I'd come by."

"I see..." He knew what this meant, but didn't say anything. Lucy wasn't a stranger to him by any means, even shut in pot heads need to get their rocks off every once in a while.

"Hey, do you think you can front us some of that pot? Lucy will have the money for you tonight, you can just come back with me and she'll have it for you."

"Alright, not a problem." Lighting the blunt makes the room fill with smoke almost instantly, maybe it wouldn't happen so fast if there wasn't so much shit in there, air circulation might be better, but tell that to John, he'd only say that it's his house and he'll do as he pleases. He's right though, no one should be telling someone how to live their lives.

-----

The phone rings, it's Lucy.

"Yeah, I'm all done over here, you guys can come through if you want."

"Sure, we'll be right there."

-----

She's back in her regular clothes, her face is still flushed even though there is no make up on it. Her lipstick is a bit smeared, and her hair looks kind of clumpy. She's smoking a pill as the two of them walk into the living room, seems like Hue left her a tip, there is a bag with a nice stash of pills by her side of the table. This is good, he wont have to go out tonight to re up. John takes a seat on a metal chair across from them, tossing a baggie of pot on the table.

"Twenty five please."

"Here you go." She puts down her utensils and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills. He accepts the money and pulls out a pre rolled joint, lighting it he winks at her and she smiles.

"So what is up for tonight?" John takes a couple of puffs and passes the joint to Lucy.

"Oh I don't know, thinking we are going to stay in and maybe watch some Fifth Element." Her voice seems raspy, maybe it's all the smoking.

"I was thinking we could get some groceries, the fridge is kind of empty." He takes the joint from Lucy and inhales a large hit, coughing as if his lungs were trying to escape years of torture and abuse.

"Easy old man, you can't take those big hits with this stuff." John takes the joint from him and puffs at it. "I can give you guys a ride to the market if you need, I could use some supplies myself."

"Sounds good, now that we have a little bit of cash it sounds like a good idea." She lights the tinfoil, and sucks in more of the burnt marshmallow.

-----

It's been three days since Hue came around, and they needed more money. Lucy went to walk the streets for a little while, he stayed at home trying to figure out who he could rob and how to make a quick buck.

Lucy comes in a couple of hours later, her dress is a bit ripped, and there is something dripping from between her legs. She doesn't say anything as she passes by him on the couch, she throws a wad of bills on the table and heads straight to the bathroom. He hears the shower go on. He grabs one of the last pills and lights it up.

"Hey, Steve!" She screams from the shower. "Can you head down to T's and pick up some more blues?"

"Sure thing babe."

-----

The alley hasn't changed much, a couple of bums are fighting over the contents of a garbage can as he passes them, they don't even notice him. Shadows seem to elongate and compress, the wind is blowing and there is little to no fresh smell, it's a stink of decay that seems to linger in the inner city. Shivering from the cold he crosses to the other side of the alley where T is usually hanging out this time of night, but he's not there. Instead there is another dealer, he's seen him before. Tall and dark, with an over sized coat on, gold teeth, and a fuck you look to him.

"What you need boy?"

"Umm... where is T?"

"He ain't here... now you need somethin' or not?"

"Yeah, I need two hundred worth..."

"Aight..." He reaches in his jacket and pulls out 4 baggies, each with 5 pills in it.

"Cool cool..." He hands the money and takes the bags. "Catch you around."

"Yeah, whatever."

-----

Back in the apartment she's smoking the last pill from the last stash. There are a few bills left on the table, and the aluminum roll is growing thin. He walks in and plops next to her, setting the bags of pills on the table as he does so.

"We really need to get out of here..." He says, but just as he does she kisses him and exhales into his mouth. The hit makes him feel light headed, he forgets what he was talking about.

"You just need some more of this..." She rips some foil for him, opens a baggie, and sets up a fix for him. "Come on, smoke some and fuck me."

He get's high, he doesn't fuck her, his dick can't get up after he smokes the pills. They both pass out on the couch as the sun begins to rise on the horizon.

Hungry?

Sometimes the mind
it plays dirty tricks
and it makes it all seem
the color rose.
In the end
it's the same as blood
spilling from the veins
of the lost and obtuse
onto a pavement
aching to be fed.

(SELF) Sabotage

Video by
Beastie Boys - Sabotage


-(SELF) Sabotage-

Because things are too good
when your face isn't covered in dirt
because when you want to dance
nothing is going down
there isn't anywhere you can run
where you wont face your own sabotage
the places you've been
the facades you've seen
they all fall apart
and the world only makes sense
when you are neck deep
in the lost feeling
of self loathing
and destruction
Self Sabotage.
So fuck all the fakes
and burn all the bridges
because the world is fucked
and you are just another doll
waiting to be ripped
by the hellhound
sent to eat paper faces.

Marilyn Manson is still teaching me 20 years later.

I wish I hadn't strayed from my roots. All the hippie dippie shit is all cool and all, but honestly it's kind of empty, and not all the people are as nice as you'd like to believe. At least with goth and metal people aren't pretending to be something they are not, if they like you or not they will let you know. Besides, life is about ups and downs, not about peace and love all the time, that is a Utopian dream which will only stifle the growth from this cradle, the escape from these cages of social stigma and dogma. For those of you who knew me in the last 4 years, that part of me has been lied to, used, and treated like a slave. I'm done being nice, available, and loving all the time. It's about time fuckers earned the respect, love, and admiration I once gave so freely to all.

Sleepless nights

Can't sleep. I feel tired, yet when I lay down my mind awakens with thought. I can't shake her stink out of my memory, one thinks it's over and that moving on is at hand, but there is nothing there but more memories and realizations of the things that happened between us. Who thought that such short time of interaction would leave such a mark. I hate it, and it makes me realized that I loved you.

Mental Miscarriage

As time passes, I find myself more out of this funk that she left me in. I must learn not to love so easily. I must learn not to give my heart so easily. I must be weary of girls and women alike. I must not allow myself to be treated like a toy for a bored little girl to play with. I still say it again and again, Blonde on Blonde by Bob Dylan... Did he read my mind from the past? Or did we unwillingly play along to his script. We may never know. But as I prepare for a second surgery, I can say that I wish she was around, to talk to and to kiss. One needs those sorts of things, part of the human condition you see. I wouldn't mind being the one doing the using this time around, as long as it was her I could dump and make feel like nothing, just as she did to me. But slowly, I'm crawling out of this funk she left me in, because I shouldn't let a girl break my spirit, especially one I thought was a woman.

Art dies, art lives.

My laptop has crashed. It will not turn on. It is officially DEAD.

5 years plus of writing, journals, and just random stuff all gone. I stopped using it so much, hence why I haven't been writing like I should in here, but the other day I went to turn it on and... nothing. Not even a boot screen, just darkness.

Well, the last time I made a back up was like 6 months ago, or sometime before all of this medical shit started. Somewhere around there. So much happened, though I wonder if it's just better that these memories/proofs of life then are gone now. Might be much better off this way.

Complicated

Her curly hair washed over her face casting the silhouette of her nose, a cute angle to say the least. A smile tainted by the drugs and other chemicals that her friends liked to feed her would often slip into our conversations, as an array of ideas we exposed slowly came to light, all in the darkness of the back seat of the car. Cuddled up next to each other, feeling the resonance of the others voice deep within, the conversation lingered on. Sometime during the night, the rain began to fall. Clink Clank on the steel rooftop, it made little difference to the two. Eyes melting into each other, it was aviation of the mind. Lips often do such beautiful things, spelling out words of awe and wonder for the eye to see and an ear to listen, all meanwhile they speak their own language as they swell and redden with the pulsing of their hearts. Another night, spent awake and without sleep. It's ok though, they'll have all the time to rest when they are dead. For now, it is this time, the few moments they have with one another in a car, a bar, or some darkened room that matter. It is theirs to hold and enjoy. Time slips by, and without a second notice those they care for have moved on. It is now, here, that their insatiable thirst for one another is temporarily quenched. For the few minutes they spend makes up for a lifetime without the other.

If only she had seen it the same way. If only the drugs hadn't rotted her mind away. Would it even matter now? Time clears all, sometimes even memories. Emotions are washed away from hearts by the tides of experience, just the same our faces become older and weathered, wrinkles in time.

What would you say now?

Their smiles light up the world for them, somehow they know that there is hope left after meeting one another. These short moments meant the whole world once, thought now they are only kept in tiny crevices, it is theirs to cherish for as long as they allow themselves to remember that it was true, and nothing will ever change that.

Letters from Dumbo

I don't want to say or write anything because I don't want to give you the pleasure of knowing that I feel like complete shit. Not because of anything in particular. I just do. My whole situation is a bit much to handle for me alone, and the only thing that I can hope to do one day is to lay in a wooden box where I wont bother anyone anymore. Ultimately, this is golden for me. My pain, physical and emotional will all go away, to not bother me or anyone else. Wouldn't this be grand?

I think so.

I'm sad because I thought that I would do something amazing, or at least be part of something grand. Now, I'm just as good as dead. I've wasted my life with useless satisfaction. Turned my own self into the worst enemy I've ever had. Oh, and how I pay for it. Maybe this will even raise a smile from your lips.

These cats are the only ones who love me unconditionally, and that kills me inside. Knowing I had you once, and now you are gone to never be seen or experienced by me again. You, the woman of a thousand faces, with a million smiles and three thousand reasons to stay away from me. If only I had known better than to get anywhere near you, at least it'd only be me who I'd hurt and blaspheme against. Still it wouldn't change the fact of what I deserve.

Shortly after a questionnaire

Walking down the isle
like a sly cat on the prowl
I'm heading towards the place
where they lend out relief
in white bottled pills.

There he is
out of nowhere the one
who took away calm
and peace of mind
stole the wind from my wings
it's ok because today I notice
that his smile isn't free though
it aches of the things he's said
weighs heavy with guilt.

I'm still moved
in one way or another
not by him
but what he's now come
to stand for, after all
he's just another coward
hiding from the shades of
yesteryear.

It is her
who I wish would just realize
that there was nothing to pick
or emphasize about our quirks
which could have led us to where
we are. Nothing at all
could have made us
turn like we did unless it was fed
through our ears
by some sociopathic creep.

We were his dolls
and he's had his fun
watching us dance away
from something we knew would last.
I ought to call you a hypocrite
but the one you cheated was yourself
by listening to his lies. It is sad
that you hurt us both from the start
by Heathing to the words of vigilant Usopp.