Have a great summer, everyone. Keep writing.

There once was a toddler named Gray,

Whose favorite pasttime was to play.

He delighted in toys

That emitted great noise

‘Til a hand grenade blew him away.

• A Limerick, by Alex Snyder
• The Ferry to Staten Island, by Alex Snyder

Life is a burden bravely borne
On the shore of the Eastern Coast,
With winter winds blowing, cold and forlorn
Like the cries of a whimpering ghost.

We boarded the boat, and if I can recall
It was travelling dreadfully slow,
And the space of our words were infrequently heard
As we sat watching sprinkling snow.

I loved you more then than I love you today-
It’s unpleasant, at least it’s the truth;
Drunk, you were reeling, like those wintry waves,
While your skirt pissed a stain of Vermouth.

 I hated you less in that floral print dress
And the eyes with the vomit of years,
And the pressurized soul under so much duress
And the words that would dribble like tears.

Pain is the truth, insomuch as uncouth;
Farewell to those meaningful days,
The couch is your home now that you’re pity-prone
With your Lexaprofessional gaze.

Time goes by so slowly for those who wait.  No time to hesitate.

Stupid song. 
Time goes by so slowly for those who wait.

Stroke of genius, Madonna.  You don’t fucking say.

Time moves slowly for me, all right.  I’m always waiting.  For what?  Death, of course.  It’s the only thing worth waiting for.

Most people shut their eyes at night and slip into wild sex fantasies.  Most people shove down under covers and get hard to that shit. 

Not me.  I fantasize about the marvel that is death.  After all, you can have sex with all different people, in all different places, in all different positions… depending on your flexibility, of course.  But death?  You only get one shot at death.  And me?  I can’t fucking wait.

• The Jogger, by Lor Gesuale
• Await, by Lor Gesuale

“We had a good run.”

That was the line he always used. He would oil up his voice to its peak of sincerity. He would brush the lonely arm that hung defeated with his seemingly compassionate fingertips. He would close the door between them before another word could be spoken, leaving another crestfallen beauty behind.

It was a good last line. He was proud of it. It fit. Like the end of a fast-paced, sentimental movie. And that’s exactly the vibe he was going for. He was the type to be concerned with vibes.

This one said: it’s been hot, but like with all runs, I’m tired now… so, bye.

Later, he would lace up his sneakers and shove his earbuds in. He would run in place to the pulsing beat, his feet bouncing off the pavement like a springboard. He would smile to himself. He was good at running.

A memory, or a distant past,

Once upon a time, it was real

Now were just lost in time,

And in your minds

The pain is all you feel,

Of life and of death

The cool slice of a knife

The click, of a cocked gun

Or the breeze from a plunge

We thrive on it

But only in your mind,

Your fears, they project us

But to everyone else im nothing…

Just dead

Those who see us, fear us

Closed eyes shadow the darkness

To all our souls, 

And as the light flickers,               

You’re drained

And so the dark brings us light to live

As demons, fears, nightmares…

So tell me, am I truly real

Or just a dream?