As Justin made his way down the desert road, thumb out looking for a ride he thought to himself, how did I get to this point? Justin had started out his life in privilege, his father a successful lawyer and his mother an accomplished author. He knew he was expected to go to law school and follow in his foot steps, but he had other ideas and took his own path, he was going to sell drugs and be the most powerful drug dealer in Georgia, but sometimes things don’t work out like you want them too and he ended up spending 15 years in Federal prison for trafficking cocaine.
Now as he walked the road after being paroled, both parents passed away, he was on his own. He was a lone wolf looking for a new score and was never one to fall of the horse and not get back up, so he searched himself and decided he wanted to go straight.
A black sedan came down the road and slowed and the window slowly rolled down and there was a loud thud as Justin fell to the ground, blood pooling around him, he was shot dead on the spot. You see Justin had his sentence reduced by ratting out the people who had hired him to traffic the drugs, he was a narc and his employers made sure he paid for his crime, it was their own form of justice and Justin was just served his sentence.
Mike followed his hunch and visited Greg, Mac’s assistant. He didn’t know why but he thought he might be involved in the earlier murders in the Oshkosh area. Greg was a weird person and very socially awkward mostly keeping to himself and that smile he had during the first woman’s examination made him feel uncomfortable. He was relying on that sixth sense that most good detectives had, just a feeling that something wasn’t right.
Pulling up to Greg’s house he noticed his car wasn’t in the driveway, but that wasn’t goin to stoop in checking out his house, he knew if he found something it couldn’t be used in court and he would be breaking the wall but the feeling wouldn’t leave him. He looked around and walked to the back door to see if maybe Greg was one of those people that would leave the door unlocked or maybe a key under the doormat, jackpot, he was one of those people. Unlocking the door and walking in a strong smell of death hit him square in the face and winced, covering his face with a handkerchief he always kept in his pocket.
The house was a disaster and didn’t seem to be how a person that seemed so meticulous would live, there was overflowing trash and magazines and papers stashed all around the house. It seemed as though he hadn’t done dishes for weeks, with food just sitting out on the counter rotting. How could someone live like this he thought. Making his way through the house he could tell the smell was getting stronger as he neared a what appeared to be a closet door. Opening the door, he could see what the smell was, Greg was rotting away when he should have been on vacation.
I know what I write is not classical rules for poetry and sometimes I feel as though this is a hinderance but it is who I am. This poem shows how I feel about my writing and have thought about for a while now.
Poetry written without structure, outside lines if you will
In the lines words I fill
Not fitting the lines as the rules say
With these words I do play
Feel as a rebel would snubbing my nose
With this my confidence it grows
Must put these words down and hope they are read
This poetry my soul forever fed
Just a little note: I enjoy true crime shows, yes I’m addicted so I wrote a poem as I watched a show on tv.
Darkness lies deep within, eyes dark hidden by light
When exposed gives deadly fright
Take a life with no remorse
See this as the only course
Killer lives within their very soul
Cashing in their only goal
Live a life off a life taken away
Just a killers typical day
Voice silenced, kept at bay
Silenced for not even a day
Tell the truth held inside
Truth no longer can hide
Let it out free your soul
Don’t let this secret take its toll
No emotion or feeling, head feels it reeling
The emptiness overbearing, soul it is tearing,
Emotions of sadness, devoid of gladness
Gloom and despair, no feeling of care
Deep hole am falling, darkness is calling
The trap it does snare, shown with my blank stare
I haven’t been writing much here as I continue to work on my book. It is a mystery/supernatural story and it is becoming consuming but might take a break shortly and write some short stories and poetry. I have discovered that writing a book, not that it should have been a surprise, is a lot more work than I thought. I thought I could just write and the story would come to me and write on the fly like my poetry, but that has not been the case and research and outlines are definitely a necessity.
I have started following a few more blogs on writing as well as joining some sites and groups that can help me learn the process. I am learning to really enjoy the story telling portion and developing characters.
I have not forgotten my first art of poetry but am really starting to enjoy the challenge of writing a book and creating these characters that people, hopefully, will enjoy learning about.
Not doing good today, feel down
In emotions I drown
Sadness and tired seem the same
Depressions weary game
No sense of being
Darkness only seeing
No control of how I feel
Yes, depression it is real
Pull me close
Take me in
To this place of love and sin
Bodies moving in time
To the heights of climax we climb
Her head in his lap
stroking hair gently
Seeing her eyes, the eyes that drew him in
Pools for which he could drown
Gently push the hair from her eyes
Gathering her gentle sighs
A smile appeared upon his face
Both hearts do race
Give a gentle forehead kiss
This moment so soft and tender
A small moment of bliss