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My Writings

Brooklyn

Where people talk loud, but hardly argue.

Where kids play in the street, and only stop when cars pass, or when the street lights go on.

Where you can visit your mother, your grandmother, your aunt and uncle, and countless cousins, and never leave the building.

Where anything you need is in walking distance.

Where you can call your best friend a dumb fuck, and he'll just smile.

Where you can see everyone you grew up with.

Brooklyn. Where I grew up, and where I'll die.

Brooklyn. Where my heart will always be.

Brooklyn.

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Tunnel

There is a light at the end of the tunnel...waiting for me.

There always is.

There has to be.

Right now I can't even see my own hand in front of my face

The only company I have are the sound of my feet against the ground, and my own heavy breathing.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel waiting for me.

I know I'll reach it.

I have to.

Someday I'll reach it.

Will you?

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Betrayal of the Father

I ask you to help me up from this ledge I hang from.

You stare at me as if I were lower than shit.

You spit in my face and kick me off...

Leaving me falling to my demise.

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Their fate has been sealed

If they go through with this travesty; this betrayal, I'll never forgive them as long as there is a breath in my body, and blood pumping trough my veins. They've sealed their fate and are about to put the final nail in their own coffins. The wonderful loving people that they once were are dead and gone, and shall not return if they pull this stunt.

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Death of a "Loved" one

Though you still breathe, the person I loved is gone; killed by this thing that you've become. My love for you is gone; replaced by the grief of this great loss.

I loved you.

You were supposed to be there for me....

Through thick and thin.

I hate what you've become.

Fuck you.

I hope you realize that though I grieve your loss, I will always remember you how you were; Not how you are.

May God have mercy on you, because I don't.

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Boredom

As I sit here with nothing to do, I think of you. I sit here wondering how much longer I have to wait until I’m with you again. You make my heart leap, and my stomach turn in knots.

Every moment with you is never long enough, I long for your touch ; your lips pressed against mine with such passion, that my very soul is enraptured in your embrace.

I long for your warm embrace, for your lips, your thighs, your breasts, for every inch of you. I wish to please you, love you, taste you...
to be encapsulated by your beauty...

But then, I look, and see you with him. I see you long for his touch, his warm embrace, and become encapsulated by the passion of his kiss, and I wonder....
How much longer will I wait?

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My American Dream

You're off being a good little soldier, fighting for "Good old" Uncle Sam; I want to kill him for taking you away from me. Stars and Stripes run through your veins pumped by your Purple Heart. Your once warm eyes now stare coldly, as if you were staring down that final enemy.

I once said that I wanted you home in the worst way, I didn't know I would be getting my wish so soon. Your dream was to fight for your country; I didn't want to take that away. Now it seems someone already has. You promised that we would be together forever, now it seems I have to help keep that promise.

I'll see you soon...

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The Warrior's Way

I am the Warrior.

When you see me, I will, most likely, not be attired formally. I will
be encased in my steel. It will be dirty, bloody, and battered. I do
not have a quick tongue or eloquent speech. I know nothing of the
manners of the King's court, or the etiquette of the formal ball.

I am known by many names. Tank. Meatshield. Fighter. Brawler. Corpse.

I am the Warrior.

I have not the capability, nor the inclination, to hide. I cannot
strike from stealth with devastating blows, then fade into the
darkness. I cannot incinerate a foe from twenty paces away. I cannot
deal death from a distance, safe from the return attacks of my enemy.
In order to kill, I must close with the enemy. I see his eyes. I smell
his breath. I taste his fear. And he tastes mine.

I cannot bend Nature to do my bidding. I cannot tap into the Nether
and force it to do what I command. I cannot study the arcane and master
it to my control. I command naught but my mind, my body, and my will.
It is by those, and those alone, that I stand or fall.

My sole companion is my weapon. I must care for it better than any
hunter has ever cared for his beast. I must master it more than any
warlock has ever mastered his demon. Without me, it is useless. Without
it, I am nothing.

I cannot heal well. I cannot shield many. I cannot do more than is
wont for my warrior's duty. I call to the spirits of my ancestors in
the heat of battle, and they are silent beside me. My true ability to
protect is to offer myself, my blood and bone and sinew, as a
sacrifice. To draw the attacks of our foes. To take the blows that
would kill a lesser being, and continue to fight on.

I cannot kill with speed and grace, suddenness and shock, or
flamboyance and power. When I kill, it is a slow business. Slow and
bloody for all concerned, myself included. I fight on, pummeled and
battered so that my companions may receive the benefits of the kill. If
I die and they yet live, it is an expected sacrifice.

I come in all races, all sizes. I fight under a thousand flags, on
a million battlefields, ever ready to answer that call to battle, the
call for help.

Few do answer the call. Fewer still survive. It is a long and hard
road, this way of the Warrior. Along it lies pain and fear and death.
Scant rewards and scanter pleasure. At the end, for most, is an
anonymous grave on some windblown battlefield and the memory of those
they fought for. If they are lucky.

And yet, I fight on. I do not even know why. Perhaps for glory,
perhaps for fame, perhaps for money, perhaps for my clan, perhaps for
my young. Perhaps it is simply all I know how to do. But fight I will.
Whether it is appreciated or not. Whether it is noticed it or not. I
will be out there, on the battle lines. Fighting. Killing. Dying.

I am the Warrior.

Death is my business. Be it yours...or mine.

I am the Warrior.

Knowing I move in by morning and leave at night, I am humbled each day, by each sunrise and sunset.

It is only fear that I fear. With the blood of my ancestors flowing
through my heart, I press on, ever in their footsteps. I seek the worst
the planes have to offer, knowing my weapon offers a legacy to those
that follow in our path.

If we should meet on an open battlefield, would that I should be
slain with haste, for it is the blood of battle that makes me stronger,
the cries of fallen warriors that enrages me. Should a swift death be
granted, you have spared your life and made those to come after me all
the stronger.

My armor is not shiny or polished and my weapons are not cleaned. I
should kneel before kings and nobles, for it is not my matter to mingle
in the politics of such affairs or speak with great words. My honor, my
courage serve me well and are cast before my companions to protect
those who can entertain such grandeur.

I am rarely fortunate enough to escape the sting of my foes
weapons, and it is this that has made me master my own and raise them
in defiance.

Should our weapons cross, and our wills collide, may the better warrior win.

I am the Warrior.