anthem city author

i sit there, hands sholder width and height. foot clicks up. release the choke, roll on the throttle. 250cc panic attack. and then that familliar feeling. the one that used to start fires and ruin walls. the one that got in the pit and wouldnt come out until part of me was bleeding. it was alive deep within, hibernating, waiting. but when it awoke i didnt let it show. i didnt tell my friend who let me ride the bike that i just wanted to take off and never come back. i didnt tell him that i could have burned down a church just then. i didnt tell him anything about the explosions in my mind. about the memories it threw back into the grinder. sex in the back seat of an old suburban. puking my guts out at a party. getting punched. running until my veins hurt away from the police as a where house smoldered behind. fights. fucks. and fires. every part of that punk that i keep so timid. it reminded me to let go. to give up all hope. to allow myself to exist at the bottom of the barrel. we ride home, me clinging onto his stomach. he hits 50. no helmet. nothing keeping me on this death machine but my grip. “let go” runs through my head “see what happens”. i dont. we sit infront of his house and discuss what happened while eating coffee ice cream and drinking margaritas. i laugh. he laughs. everything is fine. just like it used to be. a part of me knows i have to go back home. i ignore that part. a friend rolls up. he hops on my wheels. takes her around the block. all i can see is that big doofy grin on his face. she makes everyone smile. i just wish she would fucking work. i know her potential and seeing her not even come close to how fast i know she can go, is to say the least unsettling. an older woman walks up. maybe 40’s. thin, blonde, this lady used to be a hot number. you can tell. the way she carries her self. the way she just moves. the fire behind her eyes. she needs help. we walk over to her house to help move some furnature. a big ass microwave and an a/c unit. oddly enough i dont move anything. i play with the dogs. theres three of them. two golden retrievers and a mutt. one of them brought me a pair of gloves. such a weird trick. it stood out. she talks to all of us about how shes a widdow. one of the retrievers sticks his nose right into my friends crotch over and over again. she laughs. then the shit hit the fan. she tells us how she has a shower we could use if we want to rinse off after all this hard work. all this hard work that took only 20min. after i didnt do shit. she keeps hinting at sexual things. “when you turn 60 that tattoo of yours is going to look like a vagina”. -commenting on my rocky horror lips on my arm. ” dont worry he’s just seeing who has the biggest cock”- commenting on her dog sticking its nose into my cock, after doing it to the other guys. “if you guys want i can give you money to get beer”- after we said we were going to leave. this lady hasnt gotten fucked in years. her husband died and she needs to get laid. it was awkward. it was uncomfortible. it was amazing. such a weird experiance shared by three people. one of which i havent seen in years. we head back. laughing and retelling what just happened no more than a minute ago. we put the angel in the truck and head off into the night. just another tale from the blue angel. -til next time 

posiebones:

Warning: Depressing shit I need to get off my chest and probably delete later.

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after hurting. after pain. after everything. there is recovery. i relapse. relax. inhale. rinse. repeat. struggle. bleed. cry. it doesn’t change pain. every expressive movement is counter active to guilt. there is no forgive. there is no forget. only a haunting reminder of what you could have done. regret your past. it makes you human. even when it makes you feel like a monster. you will, with out a doubt, fuck things up. learn from your mistakes, but you don’t learn from them. the haunting lingering meloncally will still be there far after you have “learned”. you don’t actually do any learning, you decide not to fuck up again just so you don’t have more ghosts of your past following you between decisions. the flies buzz through my room are  an ever flourishing reminder of things i wish i never became. writers humor. i don’t write. i pour my insides out on to my keyboard. the box in my head explodes, grammar goes out the window. sentence structure falls to adding a period in between thoughts. i take a slurp of saint johns wart. pop 2 niacin. and hope that in half an hour this will all disappear from the front of my mind. i know it wont work. fill me to the brim with herbs and chemicals and i will still see my scars. i keep meeting people. i keep hoping for a second chance. to show some one my worth. because as always i am worthless to myself. im honest now. in up front. im not hiding. im digging into people. because i dug so shallow last time and i ended up burring myself in what little sod there was. im trying to fix everything broken inside myself. im trying. at least i can say that. but i wont be satisfied until im glues together with better stories and less ghosts. i linger in this after life of fuck it. this nihilistic not giving a shit is over. i care. i care so much now. i havent done that in 4 years. just because i always have an empty heart doesnt meant i cant fill it. my last heart filler i failed just like the rest. every one of them hurts. i still see one of them. but the guilt of the others has kept me far away. i want to stop this war between me and my past. i fucked up. i will fuck up. acceptance is the first step to recovery. as with all addictions. i dont care about my mistakes. i care about the right decisions. i hate the wrong ones. but if i could do it all again i would. i would live every decision all over again because it got me here. they haunt me. every single heart. every single fucking mistake. every moment ruined by me just fucking up. i live with that. it eats me whole. it spits me out. it kills me. but i am still here and i will be. i cant promise i wont do it again. but i can promise i will be sorry if i do. -signing off. til nextime space cowboy. good night and good luck. as always. jellybean

if i get my cock pierced, which kind should i get? been thinking about it for a while. might just do it when i get the coin. heres a guide http://community.tribalectic.com/galleries/male/Male%20Genital%20Piercings. LEMME KNOW