new shit
so this is some stuff for the up coming sk play. lemme know what c'hall think. i love love, but i'm looking for critics.
long before I ever herd of Columbine’s carbines.
I dreamed of blood spattered class room.
During my freshman year of high school
I understood that god
put Mark Torres on this earth
for three reasons.
One, to nose tackle his opponents into oblivion for our football team
Two, to consume enough silm jims to feed a third world family
and Three, to make my life as painful and degrading as possible.
Just one of the perks of being popular at Leigh high school.
but mark was far from the big man on campus
more of a poorly shaved gorilla with a chin wattle.
rotten candy corn teeth crusted around clear braces.
he was six feet four and two hundred fifty pounds
of muscle and malice
that could pass
as the missing link.
First day of school
he towers over my desk
“Hey Geoff,
if I washed my cock
would you suck it?”
Uh, no.
“well I guess that makes you a dirty cock sucker. huhuhuhuhuh.”
So I told him
that he was so ugly
he couldn’t get laid
giving away xtc
and vibrators.
in a woman’s prison.
Mark then swung a two inch thick text book
from half way across the room
into the bridge of my nose.
the world
is a brick red border
around a blinding white dynamite flash.
my face
a cracked gasket
spraying involuntary tears.
Long before I ever herd of the trench coat Mafia
I regarded Halloween a as year round holiday.
I was short, pale, skinny
and in love with all things morbid or macabre.
This does make you a lot of friends
in the magic kingdom of high school
last period before spring break
and Mark is a bolder in slow motion
creeping behind me
while I sharpen my pencil.
It must have been a game day
cause his jersey was crisp with iron scars
“ hey Geoff
are those cigarettes I smell?
tsk, tsk, tsk, that’s a disgusting
habit.”
My spidey sense screams
that this is a he’s about to make a joke
where I’m the punch line
at this point in the year I had given up on talking shit or fighting back
both just got you beat harder
and only upped the production value
for all everyone watching.
I fall to a spot
in the center of my head
where I move with the grace
of kung fu film noir slap stick.
dream of spinning around all bad ass
break both his knee caps
before I burry my pencil
in his fat neck.
But I’m wolverine sized dreams
in a second rate sidekicks body.
Mark’s fist is a ten ton wrecking ball
smashing into my ear
Cartoon frying pan style.
The world is deafening ring
as two of Marks friends pin
my scare crow frame
up against a wall
the class crowds around
like a forty two car pile up
on a residential suburbia street.
Mark knots his fist on a few tufts of my Mohawk
and sprays my face with air freshener
for what tastes like an hour.
Imagine being held down
and forced to snort
a mile long line of
mashed plastic roses
and your close.
imagine a room full of people
you have to see the next day
laughing at you while it happens
and your closer.
I thrashed psychotic
screaming noises mostly inaudible to the human ear.
but his friends didn’t let me go until the teacher walked in.
I bolted out of room
and spend the rest of the day
stealing cigarettes
and smoking alone in car ports.
Throwing rocks
at the windows of abandoned tract homes
and wondering what my school would look like on fire.
when I got suspended for skipping
and my father cursed me out for an hour
and a half with out ever actually taking a breath.
I didn’t tell him about the million indignities
that were as much a part of my day
as chalk broads and tardy bells.
even worse then the fear of having “snitch”
attached to my list of daily epithets
was the shame of having to tell my dad
I was a victim.
at fourteen
I’d rather swallow a forty
of my own blood and snot
then admit to not being man enough
to handle my problems.
So instead I stared at the smallest crack
in the plaster wall behind him
as if I did it long enough
I’d be able to crawl into it.
.
and kept my note book filled with poorly articulated death threats
I had no intention of sending
but would have gotten me arrested
if found today.
that was over 10 years ago
and I can not pretend
I never wanted my cafeteria
held in a cloud of gun powder.
to be a 12 gauge David
spitting buck shot at Goliath.
to dig a gun barrel
between a furrowed brow
till their fat face
is thick with cold sweat.
Only to aim low for the gut
and let him bleed out slow.
hole in his chest so big
you can’t read his jersey number.
to get that moment of cinematic justice
that only exists in action movies
made for teen age boys like me.
see when I herd about
shell casings raining on a Formica desk
and saw the faces of parents burring kids
I would have dreamed of killing
my stomach was an elevator
with the cables freshly cut.
I can imagine few fates worse then being
frozen forever in a high school year book photo
that get given to the local network affiliate.
a sub urban myth
that will one day be the equivalent
of the girl that gets pregnant
by sucking dick.
“better not fuck with the creepy kid
or he’ll come to school and shoot ya.”
After the cold shock of
“oh my god, so one actually did it” wore off.
The tepid realization sank in
that it was going be so much worse
for anyone still in high school
and unwilling to make there last stand at 16.
Now every time some manic panic dyed head is held in a toilet
the sadistic shit griping it will feel that much more righteous.
Imagine your hole life reduced to tabloid horror story
ready for a doctor Phil reenactment.
A boogie man for soccer moms
and the politicians that love them.
Trading all dreams they’ll ever have (?)
to become someone else’s disposable nightmare.