JakRatz

Dear Ariel;   Today I found myself thinking about you again. I was thinking about who you are, what your dreams are, and how you hold yourself. I was dreaming of holding you tight, never letting go. I imagined gazing in those gorgeous eyes of yours. I wondered what you were doing. I thought about you holding my hand, kissing my lips, and telling me you love me. I pictured you, perfect, devoted to a lesser cause. I saw the dirt under your nails, and the flour on your cheek. I had the image of you caring for our children playing in my head. I knew at that moment that a crazy idea between us would work better than any structured plan between a

Why am I writing tonight? I'm writing For the inspirational messages. For the beautiful things in the world. For everything that is. For everything that has been. For everything that will be. For time. For love. For life. For resolution without regret. For dancing in the rain. For staring at a tree. For laughing just to laugh. For the music that embraces me. For family. For friends. For my wife. For an impulse. For a perspective. Forget everything else. I'm writing to write.

"This is it" utters from my quibbling mouth as I reach for your hand. On the lower side of the bad-ass quotes spectrum. What are seat belts when you are parked romantically on top of a well-known cliff, watching the oncoming ultrasonic cloud burst heading your direction? It took days, it seemed, for that little flaming speck of a meteor to reach the ground. Lucky for us it was so close to home. Scientists predicted the exact landing spot, time, and estimated damage beyond reparable. That was our meteor. Our calling. They evacuated the city, leaving only the bottom feeders to pick off the excess, and us. We knew there was no sense in running,

As I'm picking the lock at one in the morning, I wonder to myself if all this is necessary. Of course it is. I'm making a point. I finally get the deadbolt open and I stroll in. I'm sure to close the doors behind me. We don't want heros, now do we? I begin to strip. I set my backpack down with a loud clunk. Next, my jacket, shirt, shoes, and pants. I leave one sock on so the rope doesn't leave burns too bad. I unzip my backpack and pull out the twenty pound led brick. It has one hole through the center just for the rope that's attatched. I securely tie the loose end of the rope to my right foot and walk out to the end of the board. The water

"'Guns don't kill people, People do.' Uh.. I think the gun helps." - Eddie Izzard I don't know why I cleaned and polished her, but the twenty-four inch break-action, single-barrel Winchester twelve gague deserved it at the least. My only regret was not taking her out often enough. As I swab the barrel with lubricant, I make several nastolgic flash-backs. I pull out the shell for me. I've been saving this shell for a long time. On the side of the plastic red is my name in black marker. Funny: It has both names on it. In it goes, smooth and easy. I pull the buttstock up and lock it in to position. I get up and place the shotgun in the contrap

Nothing about me is as unnoticed as my fixation with fire. A dancing flame, isolated and content. The things it hides. In that little persona there lies a craving that will never be completely fulfilled. It just consumes everything it touches and leaves only but remnants if it so chooses. The only way to extinguish it is to deprive it of its life-giving elements. Simple, but in a rage, impossible. What better place to be than in a cemetary at 3:47 AM, on the earliest part of the 12th of June. The sprinklers have more than an hour to come on. There, on the lawn, are my clothing with my cute little note to the rest of the world. I like answeri

What could possibly be more frightening than facing your deepest fears? One of my deepest fears is contradicting my strong advocacy against drug and alcohol use. I fear that one day I will just give myself up to the world and lose everything but my life. I sit at my computer, reading my life history, dreaming about an easier day. A day when things went where they ought to. Through my puffed, teary eyes I stare at a chemical compound on the outside of a bottle of pills held tightly in my thin, pale hand. Trazadone is not a strong drug, but with my low tolerance for anything and a high quantity, I can do what I set out for. The white lid says

I lay there, not entirely on my bed, my feet dangling over the edge with one tucked under the other. I'm only wearing the black vinyl pants that I hate so much with a dagger dangling between my thumb and index finger directly above my sternum. In it was reflected how I've led my life this far and all the people I've influenced. My choices and accomplishments. My lessons and failures. The cold steel taunts me. It laughs in my eyes. I touch it to my flesh. A small nick, a drop of passion. My blood rushes, my adrenaline bursts. A smile emits. As I lay there with a six inch knife on my chest, I begin to wonder what else was in store for me, not

In great resentment of losing my first Death, I hang my head in shame. In a series of a thousand deaths, there must be a start, and there must certainly be an end. Without, this is all just unnecessary pain. Pain that never leaves. This morning, I woke up to the edge of a very tall building. There I stood, just in jeans, in the middle of December. My pale, scrawny self just standing there in the bitter cold, wind tearing at my flesh. The first thing I notice is the landing. It has to be a good one. Nothing will catch me, no soft spots, no miserable happenstances. Nothing but concrete. My toes grip the side of the wall, just over the edge. A