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Brain Snap

28 Sunday Feb 2021

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It is a little past ten at night and my body clock is telling me that i really should stop watching crap on TV and go to bed.

I turn off the turn and make my way towards the bathroom ‘Where do you think you are going’ my brain demands. I sigh in frustration because i was hoping that i could just go to bed without being noticed because i honestly can’t remember the last time that i had a good nights sleep ‘ It is still early and i have a lot more thinking to do before i shut down for the night.’

I tell my brain that i had a really rough day at work and that i really need to get some rest because i have to do it all again tomorrow.

All i get in response is a laugh so i know that i am in for another sleepless night.

I set my alarm for 5am and roll over on my right side which is my usual routine, as my breathing slows i hear the crickets outside singing me a lullaby.

I am grateful for their help but i have heard the song before and i know that my brain is about to fill my head with all sorts of useless imformation.

‘Why did you pay $1.50 a litre for petrol today when it was $1.41 just down the road?’

‘You bought a bag of kibble for Fido last when you know that he prefers meaty chunks why?

‘Did you turn the stove off?’

‘I can see light under the bedroom door did you remember to turn off the light in the kitchen?’

I am now 32 years old and i have had trouble sleeping for as long as i remember so i decide to try a different approach tonight.

Instead of ignoring my brain hoping it will get tired of talking to itself i reply to my inner voice in the hope that it will just shut up and go into sleep mode.

‘I know i should have gone to the other petrol station but i really couldn’t be bothered’

‘And he reason why i bought the dry food for Fido was because it was on special and i thought he might like to try something different’

‘I didn’t use the stove tonight so o know it is off and yes i am positive that i turned the kitchen light off now shut the fuck up and go to sleep thank you’

I toss and turn for a while expecting a reply but when none is forthcoming i smile close my eyes and begin to drift off.

‘Did you lock the back door? Because if i remember correctly there was a break in down the road last week’

Sighing i cover my face with a pillow in the hope of silencing the voice but it doesn’t work ‘You really should go and check because you don’t know who could be lurking outside’

Throwing the sheet aside i climb out of bed ‘OK you win i will go and check and hopefully when i come back you will be quiet for the rest of the night;

I rattle the handle and sure enough the back door is locked, i also check the stove while i am up and once i am satisfied that all is well i stumble back to bed.

The time is now 2,23 in the morning and i am still awake ‘Do you want to play a game of I Spy because after all your alarm will go off in a couple of hours so you wont get much sleep anyway’

I spy with my little eye something beginning with B.

My alarm blares so i hit the snooze button in the hope of getting a couple more minutes of sleep but my brain has other ideas ‘Get out of bed you lazy turd, two hours sleep is enough for anybody.

As i said insomnia has always been a big problem for me, I am a worrier , i worry about about any insignificant thing and then i would worry about my constant worrying.

Going to sleep at night is a struggle and somethings i would think about ending it all and going into a permanent sleep but thankfully my brain seemed to sense when when was time to settle down at nights and for a few months i would get a decent amount of sleep every night but than my over thinking and worrying would come back and my brain would again go into overdrive.

Over the years my doctor has prescribed me different types of pills and potions to help me sleep but none have really helped.

Also i have tried yoga meditation and deep breathing exercises to help me relax but again with limited results.

It is now early spring and the last six months my insomnia has grown steadily worse, i average about an hour and half of sleep a night so my days are torture because most of the walk i walk around like a zombie barely able to function and so on the morning of 2nd September i enter a gun store down the end of my block and buy myself a rifle that the guy behind the counter said would stop an elephant in its tracks.

Finally i am taking control of my life even though i am about to end it.

Once home i put the rifle in the hall closet and than like a prisoner on death row on the day of his execution i wonder what to have for my last supper.

I think back to when i was a kid and my favorite back then was leg of lamb with roast pumpkin and mashed potatoes so i go to the grocery store and buy the ingredients for my final meal before i meet my maker.

Two hours later the lamb is cooked to perfection and the vegetables are just how i like them.

I eat slowly at first but i am only delaying the inevitable so i gobble down the rest place the plate in the sink then go to the closet and grab the rifle, my liberator if you will.

Taking a seat i remove my shoes and socks get comfortable then after putting the barrel under chin place my big toe on the trigger and get ready to squeeze.

My brain decides that just this second is the right time to start talking ‘What are you doing Kevin?

I don’t wish to reply but i do any way ‘What does it look like you little fucker, this is all your fault , if only you learnt to keep your mouth shut when i am trying to sleep than none of this would be happening’

My toe gently squeezes ‘You do realise that when you pull the trigger i will be splattered all over the wall behind you?’

‘Yes i am quite aware of that eventuality now just shut the fuck up so i can get down to business’

‘Um i don’t mean to ask a silly question but did you put any bullets in the gun?

My heart stops for a second but i distinctly remember loading the gun so tell my brain to back off ‘Nice try but no cigar’

I toe is getting a cramp but does as ordered and squeezes once again.

blurp blurp blurp plurp

I look over to the coffee table where my mobile is lit up like a christmas tree demanding to be answered ‘Jesus H fucking Christ can’t a man kill himself in peace anymore?

Taking a deep breath i tell myself that five minutes wont make any difference so i put the gun on the carpet and pick up the phone.

The screen tells me that my little sister Irene is the culprit calling but i haven’t talk to her in a long time so i answer ‘Hello sis so how is married life treating you?

She has been married for less than a year and seems to be happy ‘Couldn’t be better Kevin but i am not interrupting anything am i because i hear some tension in your voice’

‘I am fine just a little tired is all’ In case she also has x ray vision i walk over and kick the rifle beneath the couch.

We chat for over an hour about the fun times we had when we were kids and about our parents who are both enjoying retirement down in Tasmania.

Listening to my sisters voice takes all the tension and fatigue out of my system but i now realize that had i gone and killed myself i would of left a lot of grief and heartache behind.

When i say goodbye to my sister i empty the rifle and throw the bullets in the trash then dismantle the gun and put it under my bed for a rainy day.

That night i watch a little TV then go and brush my teeth before going to bed, as i brush my brain pipes up ‘I am sorry for all the crap i put you through and from now on i promise to let you sleep uninterrupted’

I must admit i am skeptical but i happily finish my dental care before toddling off to bed.

At 3am i am woken by my brain ‘I know that i promised not to talk but i am bored so why don’t we play a game or talk about the weather or something’

My brain might have kept on talking but i had already switched off and fallen to sleep.

THE END

Salvatore Salvatore’

21 Friday Jul 2017

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A bright red Ducati 848 pulls into a parking spot near a theatre on the corner of 31 st & broadway new york city.

Riding the machine is Salvatore Salvatore’ a ruthless hit man who will kill anyone if the price is right.

Salvatore revs the engine as he waits for his target to exit the theatre for intermission.He is a smoker so soon he will emerge for a nicotine fix.

 

As Salvatore waits he pulls a glock 3×4789 revolver from his jacket pocket and screws a silencer in place.

He doesn’t have to wait long because soon the theatre doors fly open and some of the patrons come rushing outside.

His target lights a cigarette and Salvatore recognises him right away,he guns his bike and inches forward in the traffic.

When he is level with the mark he raises his arm and fires a single shot into the forehead of his victim.

Then he gives his ducati full throttle and disappears into the night

 

At home a few hours later Salvatore is relaxing at home waiting for an email to arrive to confirm the hit and payment into his overseas account.

And an hour later he is $ 100,000 richer and proud of a job well done.

 

Salvatore is 42 years old 6′ 2” tall weighing 180 pounds with black wavy hair and an athletic build he likes to wear hand made italian suits with gucci shoes.

He could be a banker or an accountant on their way to work but he is anything but,he also has the ability to blend in with the background nobody notices him he is the ghost that walks.

 

Salvatore is riding his ducati around manhattan taking in the sites when his cellphone vibrates in his pocket.

Someone else needs killing.

He parks his bike near central park and has a seat on a bench and starts to read the email from his boss.

The client is a Mrs Anne Bartelli who is tired of her husbands womanising and she wants him gone.

She will pay $ 150,000 if her husband suffers a slow and agonising death.

Salvatore prefers to kill nice and quick but for that type of money he will do what the client requires.

 

A week later he arrives at the Bartelli household dressed as a plumber and knocks on the door.

A middle aged man answers ‘Yes how can i help you?’ Salvatore answers ‘ Mr Bartelli? I am hear to fix your leaking toilet’

Bartelli starts to answer when Salvatore pulls his glock from his toolbox and tells his target to step back inside and Salvatore follows him in.

 

Salvatore ties Bartelli naked to a chair with a sock stuffed into his mouth and gets to work.

And for the next hour Salvatore goes about his business with a minimum of fuss.Using every tool in his toolbox he inflicts more pain than any human can handle and thankfully Bartelli loses consciousness.

Salvatore decides that enough is enough and quickly finishes the job and slices Bartelli’s neck open from ear to ear.

Then he packs up his toolbox and leaves without being seen.

 

But he has been seen.

Upstairs looking through the railings is a five year girl too stunned to make a sound.

Little Emily was supposed to go to school today but she talked her daddy into taking her to the zoo instead.

Now she is so traumatised she cant move a muscle as she watches her daddies killer walk out the door.

 

For the next decade Salvatore has performed over a dozen more murders earning himself a lot of money.

And with a savvy business mind and investments Salvatore now has more money than he could ever dream of.

So he treats himself to a porsche and large yacht that he approporiately names ‘Salvatore”

 

While Salvatore has been making his millions Emily Bartelli has been in and out of institutions.

She is still so traumatised that she hasn’t uttered a word since witnessing her fathers murder ten years ago.

 

Today Emily is walking along the jetty towards the waters of hudson bay.As she walks she admires all of the boats moored at the marina.

And she remembers the times that her father used to take her fishing out in the bay.She smiles to herself for a second as she remembers the good times.

Than her she looks over to a boat called ‘Salvatore” and the man tending the sails.He looks vaguely familiar.

Than her heart starts to palpitate.Surely her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her.

It has to be the same man.The man who killed her father.

 

 

Emily emits a low growl from her throat and utters the first word that she has uttered in ten years ‘murderer’.

She silently climbs aboard the ‘Salvatore’ and launches herself at the killer

 

Salvatore senses movement behind and turns around,but a second too late.He is hit hard and his feet get tangled in the ropes and he and his attacker both land in the water.

 

Salvatore desperately tries to free himself from the ropes and his attacker but he is losing the battle.And after a few minutes he breathes his last breath.

 

Emily holds on to the killer and watches as his eyes glaze over.She smiles to herself she is happy now.So she lets go and slowly sinks to the bottom.

Now she and her father are together once again.

 

In the house where Emil’s father was killed a lonely widow sits weeping.

Because of her spite she has lost her daughter.

She has lost everything.

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

I Cut

04 Sunday Jun 2017

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I cut myself this morning.

I cut myself deep.

My skin starts to tingle.

And my demons start to creep.

 

I cut a little deeper.

And i kind of like the pain.

I stare into my bathroom mirror.

And i cut myself again.

 

My cutting tool of choice.

Is a sharp little pocket knife.

I cut because i am always afraid.

My knife is my one and only friend.

I will cut until the bitter end.

 

I cut myself one more time.

And a line of blood appears on my face.

I look into my mirror.

But i stare into space.

 

I cut a little deeper.

And hope that my memories will disappear.

My blood runs down my face.

And mingles with my tears.

 

I don’t usually cut my face.

But my life has become a living hell.

I had to deal with a lot of people.

And i don’t do that well.

 

I cut myself again.

With my trusty little blade.

And i watch my blood flow.

I love my fucking knife.

It gets me through my life.

 

I know that i am a huge failure.

I never do anything right.

I try my best but it is never good enough.

Why do i even get out of bed.?

Who is that person living in my head?

 

My favourite colour is blue.

So why do i like blood so much?

Just a little nick.

And i feel some pleasure.

A pleasure that cuts through the pain.

I  feel some sort of release.

Some well earned peace.

 

A few of my friends at work.

Asked me about the cuts on my face.

I told them that i got scratched by my neighbours cat.

They laughed ‘Was it a fucking tiger?’

I tried to laugh with them.

But i could barely manage a smile.

While beneath the table i fondle my trusty blade of steel.

Only my knife knows how i feel.

 

I cut for the first time when i was thirteen.

I thought i was just your normal schoolboy

But the other kids thought different.

And they let me know in no uncertain terms.

I was constantly on my guard.

With a belly full of worms.

 

I was called names had my hair pulled

And some of the other kids even spat on my face.

That is when i retreated into my mind.

And went to a better place.

 

So i bought myself a pocket knife.

And started to cut.

The best places to cut.

Was my inner arms and thighs.

I cut and cut with silent cries.

 

When i was fourteen.

I was brutalised so much at school i could barely

function.

I struggled home a broken little boy.

The other kids had taken all of my joy.

 

That night i ran myself .

To try to drown away my sorrows.

As i washed myself my eyes were drawn to my fathers razor

sitting on the edge of the tub.

I picked it up and gave it a tender rub.

 

The razor was a wilkerson sword of unknown vintage.

Old and rusty but sharp just the same.

As i held that razor.

I heard it calling my name.

 

One deep cut.

And all of my pain would be gone.

But o couldn’t do it.

I didn’t want my parents to find me in a bath full

of blood.

 

So i just gave myself a shallow cut.

And marvelled at the drops of red.

I smiled at the sight.

And toddled off to bed.

 

I cut because i feel like it.

I cut because i can.

I cut to free myself.

I cut to be a better man.

 

They say that the first cut is the deepest.

But my deepest cut is yet to come.

It might be tomorrow or the day after that.

But my deepest cut will be one day very soon.

Of that i can give you a guarantee.

So listen really well.

Because this is my final plea.

I CUT.

 

 

 

 

THE END.

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

29 Friday Jul 2016

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My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Now i am feeling kind of Beige.

I just Blend in with My Surroundings.

Beige is the Favourite Colour on all of the Walls.

I am the Beige in the Background.

 

And even though i am in plain Sight

No one seems to notice Me.

I am the Invisible Man.

Wrapped in Beige Bandages.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Feel kind of Grey

A Grey Fog has entered My Mind

And it is messing with My Thinking

 

I Wear Grey Pants and Coat

Like a Funeral Director

I am Feeling down and heavy

Like a big Grey Cloud

Is Grey My Colour Now?

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Now i feel kind of Yellow

I Said Yellow not Mellow

On the Exterior i might look like i am in Control

But in the Interior My Insides are doing Somersaults

 

My Life has Been a series of Slip Ups and Falls

Like i am Riding a Giant Yellow Banana Peel

 

A Yellow School Bus used to take Me to a Place

Where i didnt wont to be

And a Bright Yellow Raincoat never seemed to Protect Me.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Think My Colour is Purple

Like One Giant Contusion

I am Purple to the Core.

 

Just like an Apple with a Purple Bruise

I am picked up than put back on the Shelf

Purple reminds Me of all the Bruises

That used to Cover My Body.

I was always getting Pushed around and Abused

I am just a purple Bruise.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Feel kind of White

The Snow is Falling Outside

But i never Feel Snug and Tight

My Clean White Sheets

Remind Me of a Hospital Bed

Sometimes White can be very Stark

 

I am Blinded by the Whiteness

I am Writing this Story on White Paper

With My Snow Blind Eyes

Try as i Might

I dont really like White.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

I Think i will try Tangerine

Tangerine isnt a Whole Colour

It is stuck Somewhere in between

Tangerine is the Colour of a Car

That Nobody wants to Buy

Do People really have Tangerine Dreams?

 

Tangerine is the Favourite Colour in Bryon Bay

Where People Live in a Dope Smoke Daze

The Smoke hangs Heavy in the Tangerine Sky

I sort of kind of like Tangerine

But at the same Time i dont

I dont wont to Dream in Tangerine

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Now i am Red

Red like the Blood that is Flowing through My Veins

But i wont My Blood to Leave My Body

And Spray the Walls Red

 

But at the same Time Red is the Colour of some Flowers

And the Colour of My favourite Shirt.

But i cant stop Thinking about My Sheets Stained with Red

A Razor in My Hand Cutting and Slashing

And i wont stop until i can no longer See Red.

 

My Blues ( Aint Blue No More )

Because My favourite Colour is Black

When You Feel Black no other Colour matters

Black is the Ultimate.

Black is the Colour of Evil and Badness

 

Black is the Colour on the Dark Side of the Moon

Black is the Colour of a Killers Soul

Black is the Colour of the Blackest Black Hole

 

But then again You havent Seen Inside of My Head

That is the Blackest Place in the Universe

I Feel Blacker than Black

Is there a Darker Colour?

 

Cause if there is  i wont to know what it is

Because i do Feel Darker than Blue.

 

My Blues ( Are All Blue Again )

I Think i Will always be Blue

I am Tired of dealing with different Colours

Blue is the Colour for Me.

Suicide Letter

28 Sunday Feb 2016

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This is just a Story.

 

This is My Suicide Letter.

I have been dealt My final  Card.

They say Life wasn’t meant to be easy.

But why does it have to be so fucking hard?

 

I was Born in the Shit.

In My Teens I was still in the Shit.

My Twenties saw Me deep in the Shit.

My Thirties saw Me Swimming in a River of Shit.

In My Forties I stopped Swimming I just started to Float.

Now in My Fifties am I am being weighed down by a Shit

filled heavy Overcoat.

 

I am tired of feeling weighed down.

Getting sucked down into the Muck.

But at the same time I don’t give a damn.

I really couldn’t give a Fuck.

 

But I don’t want to go out that way.

I want to go on My terms.

Maybe I will fall into a Vat of hot Oil.

Or get Eaten Alive.

By Ten Thousand Blood sucking Worms.

 

When I think back to My Teenage Years.

Well I really try not to.

Cause bad Memories bring on the Tears.

I think about all of the Abuse that I went through.

Verbal Abuse Physical Abuse and Sexual Abuse.

 

The Verbal was being called a lot of nasty Names.

Pretty Boy Girly Boy and a lot of others that I wont mention.

Constantly being told that I was nothing but a piece of Shit.

But to My Tormentors it was just a Game.

They didn’t care how much the Name calling hurt.

But the Words went real deep.

That is when I first started to think about  going on a

permanent Sleep.

 

The Physical Abuse consisted of being pushed down a Dozen

Stairs A Toe Broken by a Mallet Spat on  Having My Hair pulled

Punched Poked and Prodded and Dead Legs

I was given so many Dead Legs that I virtually had a permanent

Limp.

I should of fought back but I am such a Fucking Wimp.

 

The Sexual Abuse was being tied to a Tree.

Having My Pants pulled down.

And then I was Urinated and Ejaculated upon.

Then I was forced to do some nasty Acts.

But I am telling You.

It was never Consesual

I was the innocent Victim

I committed no Crime.

 

So why am I hear writing this last Letter?

I didn’t do anything wrong.

But I carry around a lot of Mental Scars.

I try to forget the past but I cant

Why am I so weak?

Why cant I be strong?

 

My Pen is writing these Words.

Letter by letter they fill the Page.

But as the Words form a Sentence and then a Paragraph

I am filled with a silent Rage.

 

I should have said a gentle Rage.

Because I am Timid I wouldn’t hurt a Fly.

But when I think of all the Crap I went through.

I only have one question.

Why?

 

Why was I so mistreated?

Why was I treated like a Dog?

No.A Dog would of been treated better.

That is one of the reasons why I am writing this Letter.

 

People say that you shouldn’t live in the past.

But that is where your memories take you.

You don’t know the future.

So your Brain goes in a backwards direction.

And dredges up things that are best forgotten.

And I remember why My Life is so Fucking Rotten

 

But enough of the Bad thoughts.

Lets talk about Death.

I think about it all of the time.

Every Second that I am Alive.

I wish that I was Dead.

The dark thoughts have been with Me for Years.

And are constantly fed.

 

From an early age Alcohol was My only Friend.

I couldn’t understand was I wasn’t more popular.

It was like I had an ugly Birthmark all over My Face.

So I Drank and Drank to go to a happier place.

 

I tried to be friendly.

But I was always pushed aside like a piece of Garbage.

I tried to keep a Smile on My Face.

But it was only a thin Veneer.

That is when I started to think

Lets end it all right here.

 

But I was weak and Spineless

A piece of Shit would be tougher then Me.

I know that My Pretty Boy Face.

Didn’t do Me any favours.

I was always Bruised Bloodied and Sore.

So at Fourteen I started to think.

Why am I even Alive anymore?

 

Over the Years People have told Me to Fight back.

But you are who you are.

You cant suddenly be a different Person.

You know a Leopard cant change its Spots.

And I have been good at connecting the dots.

 

I have never been a good connector.

I always end up by Myself.

I am like an old can of Baked Beans.

Picked up then put back on the shelf.

 

But enough of all the talking.

It is now time for action.

So I go to the Kitchen and open the Cutlery Drawer.

And a Carving Knife holds a Fatal attraction.

But before I put the Knife through its paces.

I close My Eyes.

And I say goodbye to my Family and Friends

 

I shouldn’t say Friends

Because I haven’t really  got any.

They are all to busy living their Lives

With their Wives or Girlfriends.

They don’t need or want to hang with Me.

But I understand because I am bad company.

 

I look out of the Kitchen Window.

And the Rain is pouring down.

Black Clouds fill the Sky.

A Black Cloud has been with Me My whole Life.

And a Black Cloud will be with Me when I Die.

 

I grab hold of the Knife.

And I stand naked in front of the Mirror.

And I proceed to open up My face.

Right down to the Bone.

Good I hate My fucking Face.

It is good to see it gone.

 

I just stand there watching My Blood flow away.

And after about Five Minutes I start to wobble

and sway.

 

The last thing I remember

Is Myself laying on the Floor.

And thinking.

FUCK OFF PEOPLE GET OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY.

 

That’s it.

My Life is finally over.

I have nothing else to say.

 

 

Lost In Paradise

23 Saturday Jan 2016

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Ellie Hartland has it all.

A career that is the envy of Her peers

A Bank Balance in the Eight figure range

And Ellie has Millions of Fans all over the World

But She has no Friends.

 

Ellie is living the American Dream

She is an Actress in the Movies

She is the hottest item in Hollywood

She lives in a huge House in Beverly Hills

And She shops on Rodeo Drive

But She is unhappy

 

Ellie hangs out with all of the In People

She graces the cover of the popular Magazines

She is a regular on the Ellen Show

And is known to visit the White House

But She is losing it.

 

When She is at Home She finds comfort in Her

favourite brand of booze.

She sits in Her walk in Robe admiring Her collection

of Shoes and Clothes.

Being an Actress might bring you Money and Fame

But that doesn’t mean that every day will be Sunny

She is starting to crack

 

After about a dozen shots of Jack Daniels

Ellie still finds it hard to relax

She feels like she living in a Pressure Cooker

Will the steam ease off gently?

Or will it go off with a blast?

Will Ellie Hartland get Her shit together?

The cracks are widening

 

The next Morning Ellie decides that She needs some Sun

Just go out and have fun and relax

So She needs a shopping fix

She parks Her Mercedes Benz on Rodeo Drive

And She shops until She is ready to collapse

God sometimes it is good to be alive.

She is feeling better.

 

After a few hours of shopping

Ellie takes a drive to the Beach

She is feeling the better then She has in Months

But then She is confronted by about Twenty Fans

who all want a Selfie.

And all of the commotion has caught the attention of

the dreaded Paparazzi

Jesus cant they just leave me alone?

She gives Her Fans all the Selfies they want

The cracks are reappearing

 

Ellie is distressed and feeling overwhelmed

that She doesn’t make it to the Beach

She just drives on Home

She rushes inside and locks all the Doors

And She goes straight to the Liquor Cabinet

She is about to start one hell of a bender

She has fallen in

 

For two Weeks all Ellie does is drink Shot after Shot

She has also discovered a new escape route

In the shape of a jagged little Pill

Ellie is running from something

But She has forgotten what

Will Her Fans forget Her if She Dies?

She thinks that they probably will

But Ellie couldn’t really care less

She has had enough of wealth and fame

She is tumbling over and over

 

Ellie is laying on Her Bathroom floor

She has one mother of a Hangover

Then She remembers that She has to attend her

latest Movies premiere

She races to the Bathroom Mirror

Does my Hair look alright?

Is my Mascara running?

The question needs to be asked

Will Ellie just give up?

Or will She stand and fight?

She is still falling

 

Will Ellie build up the nerve to walk the Red Carpet

Does She believe in this Fairy Tale?

Or will She just cash in Her Chips?

Suicide

The final ride

You swim in

But you don’t come back with the Tide

 

But Ellie Hartland goes to the Premiere

With a fake smile on Her Face

And She walks the walk and talks the talk

But She feels lost and out of Her depth

Will She spiral out of control?

Or will She hold it all together?

She has  few quiets Drinks before She mingles with

the Public

Will anyone notice that She is not really there?

But then again does anyone really care?

 

Ellie Hartland arrives Home in a very distressed

state

And She runs Herself a Bath

Then She swallows a handful of Pills and washes them

down with Bourbon straight from the Bottle

Ellie Hartland has walked Her last Red Carpet

She has walked Her final path

She climbs into Her Bath

And a huge smile lights up Her Face

She didn’t like where She has been

But She sure as Fuck knows where She is going

 

So just be careful what you wish for

Because all of your wishes might be realised

But is it really worth it?

Because Ellie Hartland just died.

 

 

I Cant Breathe

07 Saturday Nov 2015

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I wake up with what feels like an Elephant sitting on

my chest

The pain is relentless I haven’t had any rest

I stand at the Toilet my Heart is racing and my stream

wont flow

My life has hit the skids

It is at an all time low

Just don’t squeeze cause I cant breathe

Sitting at the Kitchen table the Coffee is percolating

I am running late

Am I keeping the World waiting?

But whether I am on time or not the Earth will still revolve

I have this problem that I don’t think I can solve

Has the Earth got an edge cause I want to jump off it

Cause it has reached the stage where I really don’t give

a shit

Just don’t squeeze cause I cant breathe

My Lungs are burning

Smoke and haze choke my airways

I cant breathe

Am I dying?

I cant breathe

Fuck it I am tired of trying

I sit on the Bus all the other passengers are talking

But I am silent

Am I a dead man walking?

Am I invisible?

Have I ever existed?

I am that present that is always re gifted

My ego has taken a hit

My self esteem is in the shit

Just don’t squeeze cause I cant breathe

I am in plain sight

Or am I just smoke and mirrors

Is this life worth the fight?

Or I could just end it with a pair of one armed Scissors

I have a pain inside that just want quit

I am tired of taking a hit after hit after hit

Just don’t squeeze cause I cant breathe

Is there life after death?

Maybe I am about to find out

Will I go quietly or with a shout?

Who will greet me?

The good Angel or the bad Angel from Hell

I can hear the sound of my final mournful Bell

My solution came in the shape of a Bullet from a Gun

Maybe now that I am dead I can finally have some fun

You can stop squeezing

Cause I have stopped breathing

So I have finally died

Now I just float around in space

Is that a smile or a frown on my face?

Some will say that I died too early

Some will say that I died too late

I couldn’t care less what people think

People are a bunch of Arseholes

At least I was the Captain of my own fate

People will come to my Funeral just to make sure that

I am gone

I lay in my Casket

I cant hear my Funeral song

As the mourners leave the Church crying or smiling

The Motherfuckers are all the same

As they get outside into the Sunshine

They have already forgotten my name

I am no longer breathing

Thank fuck for that

The Thinking Pier

24 Tuesday Mar 2015

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I wrote this story a while ago

I wasn’t going to post it

but I have decided that it needs

to be read.

It is about depression

If you or anyone you know has

depression get help. I did.

 

I have found a favourite spot in the bush

About a 10 minute walk from my place

Where no one is around

Where no one can see my face

I call it the thinking pier

It is right on the edge of the lake

With me is my demon

I hope he doesn’t wake.

 

My demon lives in my head

And for most of the time he is asleep

But if I get a bad memory

thinking about the past

Then the demon awakens

I think he is here for keeps.

 

I call it the thinking pier

but only the stone foundations remain

I sit on the stone

and unleash the pain.

 

The pain in my head is a good friend of

the demons

I am hearing things

dreadful sounds I am receiving

Am I still breathing?

 

I sit on the thinking pier

and my tears begin to well

I do some more thinking

and my tear drops fell

 

Some flow into the waters of the lake

and join 10 trillion other tears

Tears of the downtrodden

that have flowed over the years

I sit there for a couple of hours or more

My mind goes back to the dark times

I think about the bad things

Then my mobile phone rings.

It is the demon calling

He tells me to do it.

Just slip into the water and float away

I don’t want to listen

but the demon has his way

 

When I hit the water

will I sink or float

Maybe I will be hit by the propeller of

a boat.

I make sure of things I should of worn

a heavy coat.

 

I sit on the thinking pier

Trying to block out the demons words

But they stick in my head

like the droppings from a thousand Birds

Man I hate those fucking words

 

It is getting dark

maybe I should head on home

But I wait a little longer

and then struggle my way through

the bush

If I get to close to the edge

maybe the demon will give me a push.

 

I sit on the thinking pier

listening to the water lap against the shore

Thinking that I really don’t want to be around

no more.

 

I grew up a loser

and I am still one now

No one wants to hang with me

I am always alone

Like I am right now.

I go for a walk around my suburb

I walk close to the edge of the road

Maybe I will step in front of a car

Is that a step too far?

 

You wont recognise me

I am nothing but road kill

It would be a bit gruesome

But also the ultimate thrill

 

I sit on the thinking pier

then I stand up

and I take off all of my clothes

I slip into the water

It is bloody cold

I just float

and let the tide take hold

I think about the Great White Shark

that is hanging around the lake.

 

Come on you motherfucker

With one bite bite me in half

then circle around and eat up the pieces

so that nothing remains

Then there is no more pain

 

I sit on the thinking pier

I am soaking wet

From my ugly head to my toes

Will I get through the dark times?

Well no one really knows

 

The demon starts to whisper

I wish I could close my ears

He whispers words

that I don’t want to hear

But then I start to listen

and I start to nod my head

And I start to agree with every word

that he said.

Piece of shit scumbag loser pretty boy

I have been called plenty of nasty names.

The really bad names I will not mention

The demon has planted the seed

Will I do the dirty deed?

That is the question

 

Some people think that I am gay

but I have never worn pink

But then again

I really couldn’t give a fuck

what people think.

 

But their words still cut deep

Maybe it is time

for the final sleep

 

I struggle through

just living day to day.

Wishing that the demon would just

stay away.

 

I might look happy on the outside

But inside I am hurting.

It sure has left a nasty impression.

This fucking depression.