Charlotte’s Bed

Charlotte grew up a fairly typical American girl.  She did very well in school, was in every major club, and was runner-up prom queen her senior year.  However, she was always drawn to the party lifestyle and guys that were the ‘bad boy’ type.  When Charlotte was 19, she got pregnant from a one night stand and had a little baby girl.  She absolutely adored her daughter, and would do anything to keep her safe and taken care of. 

Charlotte met Dylan on a dating app and she was immediately smittened when she laid eyes on his profile pic.  Dylan had dark hair, a short beard, plenty of tattoos, and was sitting on his motorcycle smoking a cigarette.  She messaged him and they set up a meeting at a local bar that same night.  Charlotte’s mother watched her daughter while she went out.  Her mother thought it was healthy that Charlotte was getting out and meeting people since having the baby. 

Charlotte and Dylan had been spending almost every moment with each other for about two months.  Dylan would stay the night at her apartment most nights unless he had an overnight run to make.  He sold crystal meth for a local biker gang known as the Vile Brigade.  On occasion, he would have to drive south and meet members of the Mexican cartel to make the pick up.  Charlotte knew from their initial meeting that Dylan sold drugs, and that added to his mystique and her fascination with him.  The first night they were together, they smoked meth and had every kind of hedonistic sex imaginable.  She was hooked on both Dylan and the drug. 

There wasn’t a day that went by that Charlotte didn’t smoke or snort meth.  Surprisingly, she managed to keep her addiction under control, attend work, and be a good mother.  That is, until Dylan showed up with a rig and injected the poison into her veins for the first time.  This took Charlotte on a downward spiral into the depths of the worst kind of hell imaginable. 

On nights when Dylan wasn’t around, he would tell a few biker buds to take a little dope over to Charlotte’s place and have some fun with her.  The first few times Charlotte felt dirty and used, but soon the stronghold of the drug made it feel like the norm, and she somehow justified it.  While the gang of bikers each had their way with her, all she could think about was getting that next fix and her precious little girl.  Charlotte laid on her bed spread eagle, being used by a menagerie of men, and thought about her sweet, innocent daughter. 

Dylan was withdrawing more and more as Charlotte was steadily wasting away.  The once voluptuous, pretty girl, who was always smiling, was now turning into a real life zombie.  Her teeth were discolored with rot beginning to set in.  The retail store where she worked let her go, due to her new, scrawny, unkempt look.  She was either on multiple day benders or sleeping a few days in a row.  The sound of a hungry kid was what woke her most of the time.  Charlotte absolutely hated herself for what she had become, but the draw of the drug was immeasurable.  She couldn’t fathom just how low she had sunk. 

As Charlotte laid in the bed, she took a massive hit from her glass pipe.  She slowly exhaled a plume of off-white smoke, watching it swirl and dance before her.  Charlotte placed the pipe on her chest, cradled between two rib bones where her breast used to be, and thought about her daughter.  She pondered her birth, what she would be like when she got older, who she would marry, and what she was doing at that very moment. 

Charlotte wondered if she could have gotten even more money from those men for her.

All Under Eventually

life is like floating 

on the open sea

at some point you may

have been on a vessel

or perhaps you are still aboard

however, at some point we all

find ourselves treading

water in the deep blackness

searching for a life preserver

for a sliver of relief

or perhaps a dingy

to take you back

to safety for a short time

but eventually

we are all back in the void

searching for our savior

a temporary reprieve

be it God


the bottle


a book



a movie



anything to take

your mind off of

the tidal wave 

barreling forth

that will engulf and

take you under

at any moment

August Soldier

sitting out back on the patio

trying to enjoy my drink and cigar

I’m dripping sweat because 

it’s August in the southeast U.S.

the flies are swarming

making it impossible to relax

I go inside and ask my wife

where the fly swatter is

I take it outside and begin

mass murdering the little bastards

but as soon as I kill three

four more are on me

hovering my drink and

crashing into my head

the cigar smoke does 

nothing to calm them

then I start saying the word

‘fly swatter’ out loud

it begins to sound absurd

like it’s not even a word

I recall as a youth when I

pronounced it ‘flyswuter’

I then think to myself,

we have some real

ballsy motherfuckers here

I’m holding the goddamn killing

instrument in my hand

and they continue to swarm me

landing on my face and arms

driving me absolutely mad

I look at the swatter

it’s seen better days

the plastic is starting to 

come apart from the metal

you can’t expect to win a war

with a broken weapon

this battle is theirs

I retreat back inside

Summer on the Southern Coast

temperature nearing 100

with humidity making it feel 112

heat index off the charts

you wear the weather

breathing a fucking chore

dripping sweat with no movement


winds begin with a ferociousness 

bending and shaking trees

herding the charcoal clouds

a distinct purplish-black 

temperature falls twenty

degrees in twenty seconds

respite from a Gulf Coast baking

such a fleeting relief

myriad gallons fall from the sky

squeezed from the onyx clouds

flashes of electric death

following by a crackle

then a deafening explosion

deluge then shifts to drizzle with

only faint rumbles in the distance

the sky lightens

outlines of clouds now visible

hues of blue peak through

the sky goes dry and the sun emerges

steam ascends from the blacktop

and the roasting continues

Home Miserable Home

I recently found out about

a study that was done

that ranked my city as

the 3rd most miserable city

in the entire United States.

it drew on the Gallup-Healthways

well-being index for its data.

(whatever that is)

it used statistics from




mental and

physical health.

in the Gallup survey,

my fine city’s residents 

were more likely to say

that they were



worried or


than those in most any other area.

for multiple years in the past,

my city has had one of the highest

crime rates per capita in America.

one year even being called the

‘murder capital of the country’

with the population taken into account.

my city was ranked

as one of the worst

in the nation

for both

emotional and

physical health.

well it’s good to know

I’m not alone,

that I’m just a product

of my downtrodden and

forlorn environment.

thank you Gallup,

for your reassurance…

Original unedited version of ‘A Deep Hate’

Richard and Bob finished a grueling, sun-baked, slave laboring day on the job and headed to their after work watering hole.  Bob would always say that whiskey and beer is the best medicine to get the taste of the day out of your mouth.  They pulled on the small, nondescript pub door and it was locked.  Richard pointed out a sign that read…

To our loyal customers who know Billy like family:

We regret to inform you that Billy has suffered a major heart attack.  Bill’s Swill and Fill will be closed until further notice.  We apologize for any inconvenience.  The family has set up a GoFundMe account for any donations for his medical treatment.  Please call Debra at the bar’s number for the info, as the phones are now forwarded to her.  Thank you for your understanding.  We look forward to serving you in the future.

“Well fuck,” Bob squawked.  “What the shit are we gonna do now?  I don’t want to go home and drink.  The old lady and those screaming bastards are there.”

Richard, the brains of the two, said, “Just hold on man.  I’m thinking.”

Richard pulled his phone out and typed, ‘bars near me’.  A plethora of options appeared, with only a few within 5 miles.  He scoured the listings near the top and said,

“Bingo.  Todd’s Place is only a mile away.  It says that they have beer specials and their happy hour doesn’t stop until 7 p.m.  I say we go there.  Whatcha say?”

Bob looked at him with wide eyes and exalted,

“Shit, all beer is special to me, and if I’m drinkin, then I’m happy.  Let’s go.”

They each pulled up to Todd’s Place.  It was a fairly unremarkable establishment on the edge of town with hardly any cars out front.  The two headed in.  When they opened the doors, classic rock was playing and a haggard blonde woman was tending the bar.  They took a couple of empty stools and asked about the specials that were advertised on the internet.  She gave some spiel about all their beer being fresh and cheap.  They ordered a pitcher of draft and started in on it.  Looking around, they noticed a few men sitting by themselves at the bar, a man and woman in a booth snuggling, and two guys sitting fairly close on the opposite bar.  Bob was the first to speak up and said,

“Looks like we gotta coupla blades over there.”

“Blades?” inquired Richard.

“Gay blades.”

“Don’t let them bother you Bob.  Just drink your beer.  Hell, I thought you were supposed to be happy.  Let them be.”

“Look at them all cozied up to one another.  Laughin and whisperin like some fairies.  Makes me fuckin sick.”

“Stop Bob.  There ain’t no need for that.  Just drink up man.  What’s your thoughts about Jimmy getting to run the 300 ton crane?  Think he deserves it?”

Bob didn’t acknowledge Richard’s attempt to change the subject.  He just kept downing pint glasses and looking at the two across from him.  Richard couldn’t understand why Bob was getting so agitated. The two of them sat in silence for another fifteen minutes until Richard said,

“Hell man.  I’ve had my fill.  Let’s get home.  You ready?”

“Naw.  I ain’t done here.  I got some drinkin to do.”

“You should probably leave with me man.”

“I said I ain’t done drinkin.  Leave if you want to leave.  I’ll seeya at work tomorrow.”

Richard hesitantly left.  Bob continued stewing and slugging away at his beer.  Another twenty minutes passed and Bob’s pitcher was drained.  The worn blonde asked about a refill, but Bob told her that he was good.  The two guys opposite to Bob paid their tab and got up to leave.  Bob quickly got the attention of the disheveled blonde and paid as well.  He was probably ten steps behind the two of them as they walked hand in hand, slightly stumbling, headed to their car.

“Queers!” Bob yelled at them from behind.

The attention of the two guys were now completely on Bob and his derogatory slur.  The contemptment and happiness of the two were now fleeting memories.

“Fuck you old man,” one of them said, as he turned to face Bob. 

“Let’s just go. He’s just a dumbass drunk,” said the other, trying to pull him back by his arm.

Bob immediately saw red and was on them hastily, swinging, punching, kicking, and spitting. When he emerged from his rage-filled state, Bob was left standing over bloody and beaten piles of flesh, spilled onto the concrete.

Once back at home, Bob washed the blood from his hands, got a beer from the fridge, and sat in silence for about ten minutes, contemplating the previous events. He walked to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He absolutely loathed what he saw, and couldn’t believe what he had just done.  Tears began to well up in his eyes. 

He then unlaced the tops of his work boots, just enough to remove them, took off his faded flannel work shirt, weathered blue jeans, and dingy white socks. 

However, he left the red lace thong on. He loved how the little frilly edges tickled his ass cheeks, and how the middle string hugged the buttplug.

Turning Point

when I did roofing work

I would occasionally have

to work out of town

this time it was Lafayette Louisiana

on my first night there

I left the job site and

headed to my hotel

I had to stop and get

some groceries and whiskey

trying to turn left into the store

from the turning lane was proving

to be an impossible feat

traffic kept coming

like a never ending metallic snake

I was getting extremely agitated

my blood pressure rising by the second

after approximately 10 minutes

I was finally able to turn

once in the store I bought

the few items I needed

and went to check out

when I finally was face to face

with the cute black cashier

I recalled a news story and said to her

“I heard that Lafayette was voted

the happiest city in America”

she smiled proudly

beaming from ear to ear and said

“yes, yes we were”

with a stone-like grimace and scowl

I looked into her eyes and said

“I really don’t see how with

all this goddamned traffic”

I left her in a deflated state

reeling from my contempt

later in my room

I laid in the bed

sipping whiskey from a

plastic hotel cup

and smiled