An English Writer's Mind

The moon was full and bright, and despite its cold winds, this made the perfect evening for Alistair to spend with his beloved wife. It was a ritual that they shared for many years, that on every full moon, they would dine on the marble balcony that overlooked their garden of cherry blossoms. Dinner was prepared by their servant Walter, who would bring a new dish that he learned during his holidays in Italy. Every dish was always accompanied with the perfect wine. Each night spent with her was more precious than the last, until Victoria never sat across from him again.             “A beautiful evening, is it not?” Alistair asked, hoping that the wind would answer. Victoria had passed six years prior, and despite her absence, Alistair always requested that Walter prepare a dinner for two on every full moon. For six years, he sat across a vacant seat, eating his meal and drinking his wine, alone. Her death came without warning. ...

There's no worse feeling than not being able to trust your mind And no matter what you're feeling, the answer's never fine. Your cries, your pleas, your screams, wish to be heard The lies, decrees, far from absurd. Yet, many deem you as someone that will only whine, Internal wounds bleeding, flowing, like a river of wine. I wish to be null, silenced, dead Never will I be full, vibrant, fed.

There's no sign of sleet Oh how a wonderful feat That I take a seat On the beach where I will meet The waves crashing at my feet.

Have you ever wondered what hell was like? No. You’ve only experienced paradise. Fuck the thought that brought the ideology Of an afterlife. What about the man that lost his wife Due to some genetic creature of life. Evolutionary biology, one hell of a strife. Continue spreading lies until all lives will dive. Protect the rights of the unborn; your alibi?  Oh, are you too worried that a fetus is alive? Then why do you dismiss the ones that cry? Wanting only help so they can get by? Hopeless in life; do you wish them to die? Humanity is null, your god is only paper. All that matters, is if you are made safer. You care only for your own profit, So create your own prophet. Not a messiah that states, “Treat all like yourselves,” You wouldn’t wish you dead, Yet your lies pour like a faucet, Still you deem that others have lost it. Life must be nice that you to get to savor The privileges of white dominated behavior.

The life of a fart One begs to wonder, Whether we seek art, Or loot to plunder. Must we pass like air, Only forgotten? Or like a corsair, To the core, rotten. Our life is not gas, For we are carbon. This as well shall pass, Pour me a bourbon.

Rohnert Park, what a town. No enjoyment in LA, That is all I have to say. Oh, how blissful the sound. A fragrance so near heaven; If you adore the smell of ass, Then this town is filled with high class, So good, you'll be left beggin'. A Californian's dream come true To live near a farm than big cities I haven't even found cute kitties Surrounded by the stench of poo. What's a city boy to lose? Come experience the beauty Luscious green filled with cow duty So wondrous one needs to roose. Yes, one hell of a place. Unrivaled Mexican food LA is just too damn rude. No better place to grace.

You took all you needed from me, Then left me to the wolves. But never did you expect that I would be, Emerging from the woods,  An alpha to the hounds, Bitch.