greetings

My name is Josh I enjoy writing, and i got a tumblr to try and get noticed. Please read my work and tell me what you think, thanks.

[fishloaf-blog]

The Chilling Wind

I haven't been on here in ages, but here's my latest poem.

The Chilling Wind

I can feel

The warmth in my soul eroding like a dune in the desert

The fire in my belly a drop of dye in a river

The cool crisp April wind the current

It whispers in my ear reminding me that I am dying

But the feeling of cold tells me I’m alive

And I know the wind is lying

[fishloaf-blog]

Why is the silence so loud?

[fishloaf-blog]

Fade to black by Metallica

this is sort of how I've been feeling lately, (although it's a little exaggerated)

Life, it seems, will fade away Drifting further every day Getting lost within myself Nothing matters, no one else I have lost the will to live Simply nothing more to give There is nothing more for me Need the end to set me free Things not what they used to be Missing one inside of me Deathly lost, this can't be real Can't stand this hell I feel Emptiness is filling me To the point of agony Growing darkness taking dawn I was me, but now he's gone No one but me can save myself, but it's too late Now I can't think, think why I should even try Yesterday seems as though it never existed Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye, *Goodbye*

[fishloaf-blog]

Oh the wonderful cross bids me come and die to find that I may truly live.

[teaheadjoyrides-deactivated2012]

[fishloaf-blog]

teaheadjoyrides:

I believe my generation has the most potential

Passed the T.V. screens and clothing stores

We are all caught up in the Mainstream

Consumerism is the name we all see on the Billboards and Displays

Flashing and flashing and intoxicating

But out of the hoax of labels that binds us to judgement

[fishloaf-blog]

[fishloaf-blog]

The Fight

“Man that guy sure looks pissed off.” I say pointing to a man on the other side of the bar,

Nods of agreement and simple drunken “yeah’s” and, “uh-huh’s” come from around the table as I down my fourth beer.

I was just about to order another when I look over to see the man I was talking about staring at me with a look of pure, searing rage. 

“I’m gonna kill you!” He shouts before breaking into a half-drunken stumble that  somehow morphs into a sprint heading right for me. I tried to get up and tell him to calm down, but he was on me in a heartbeat. 

He turns the momentum of his sprint into a powerful right hook, and I try to dodge, but I guess the beer has affected my reflexes. He hits me square in the face. I recoil a little, try to ignore the pain, and quickly counter with a one-two, left-right jab. He blocks the first but my right arm connects. I go again with my left but he grabs it and pulls me in range for a head butt to the gut. I exhale just in time to prevent getting the air knocked out of me. Then I bring my elbow up and bring it down on his back with all my strength. He winces, then grabs my legs and pushes me back. He cause me to lose my balance and I fall backwards onto a table, breaking it, and hitting the ground with him on top of me.

He starts giving me the ground and pound treatment, punching me in the face repeatedly. I put my hands up to defend my head, then I hook my leg around his and shift my weight to bring him down and put me on top. I repay him in kind.

I land some solid blows on his face before he’s able to get me off and push me away with his legs. He has just enough time to grab a leg from the broken table and get back on his feet. I attempt a left hook but he blocks it, winds back his arm and swings the table leg a full one hundred and eighty degrees into my temple, immobilizing me with pain. I fall to the ground in a haze and am barely conscious enough to hear him say, “what goes around comes around, Kevin.”

Wait, what? Kevin? “What are you talking about dude?”

“Don’t play stupid with me Kevin, you cad, you slept with my wife!”

“Um, My name’s Chris, I don’t think I know you or your wife. But for some reason I get confused for a guy named Kevin a lot.” 

“Oh, I’m really sorry about that, but I just realized you look like someone I might have known in school, did you go to brandlebuck middle school?”

“Yeah I did! Hey aren’t you George Heckton?”

“Yup, and you’re Chris Spade.”

“That’s me, say, I’m sorry I made fun of you for your acne in the 8th grade, that was just mean, and I feel really bad about it.”

“Oh don’t worry, that‘s water under the bridge, and I guess we’re kind of  even now. Anyways, I’ve got to go find Kevin, I’ll see you around. Have a good one.”

“You too.”

[fishloaf-blog]

The Absence of Guilt

Have you ever

Witnessed, experienced, or committed

Something terrible, 

Wicked, wrong, or twisted,

And felt nothing?

No guilt, no pity

Nothing

And that nothing kills you

You think to yourself

How could you be so heartless?

But what if heartlessness could help?

What if we erased our emotions

And used our heads instead of our hearts

To solve our problems with logic

If we could detach ourselves

And think only right and wrong

Maybe we could right our wrongs

[fishloaf-blog]

The Bunker on The Hill

“Pvt. Thompson get over here!”

“Yeah sarge? Sir? What is it?” says Pvt. Thompson, panting.

Pointing to two of his squad mates, Sgt. Jacobson yells over the gunfire, “You, Johnson, and Miller are going to run to those sand bags over there, and flank that bunker on top of the hill while we give you cover fire.” 

“Sir yes sir!”

Sgt. Jacobson gives the command to open fire, and the trio sprints out of the fort and reaches the cover of the sandbags safely. With Thompson leading the group, he is just about to make a run for the bunker, when something he had sort of known the whole time just now sinks in, he realizes that his life is completely in the hands of the group in the fort. “Can I trust them?” He thinks, then he imagines himself getting shot full of holes because of their bad aim, or a grenade blowing them all to bits and he’s standing like an idiot out in the open. 

Then he starts thinking about what might happen if he doesn’t follow his orders and flank the bunker. He imagines all the ridicule he’ll get from his fellow soldiers, and he thinks of the U.S. losing the war altogether because there was something important in that bunker and if he doesnt get it then the Japanese will blow up D.C. or something.

“C’mon Thompson are we going or what!?” yells Johnson breaking his train of thought.

“What? Oh, um, just uh, give me a second.” 

Thompson scratches his head through his helmet. He knows he might die, he might live, he can’t decide and it’s killing him! Part of him is pulling him to go, but another part of him doesn’t want to die.

“Thompson we have to go now!”

He hesitates for a few more seconds, then he decides--It’s better to die a hero, than live as a coward.

[fishloaf-blog]

I Just Don't Understand

Why would you do this to yourself?

Do you really think you’re fooling anyone?

Why in the world would you get a spray tan!?

It’s so obviously fake,

You look like an oompa loompa

You wanted to be tan?

Well now you’re a tangerine

You didn’t take the time to tan outside

So now you’re the color of a pumkpin’s hide

You copied others just like a parrot

Now your skin’s just like a carrot

your natural color was just fine

But then again, why show who you really are?

When you can hide behind a mask of makeup

And change the color of your skin

As long as you’re who they want you to be

You’ll always be able to fit in

And that’s what everyone wants

Right?

Wrong.

Stop fitting in and figure out

What you really want in life

[fishloaf-blog]

marblemouth

Hmm?

What?

I’m sorry, one more time?

I still didn’t hear what you said

Turn your head and face me

Stop aiming the waves of sound at the ground

And point your speech in my direction

Now move your mouth

enunciate properly

Pronounce the words clearly

I want to know what you’re saying

It seems important

But you keep mumbling

Like a bumbling idiot

As a child did you snack on glass?

Cause it sure sounds like it

Or maybe your tongue was attacked with tacks

And your lips were lacerated with a lawnmower

Whatever your deal is

Say what you’re going to say

In such a way

That I can understand it

[fishloaf-blog]

What Went Wrong?

I’m not very poetic, but you now what they say, love makes you do stupid things. She’s pretty, she’s sweet, she’s perfect in almost every way, and I think she’s a little fond of me too. I’m crazy about her, and I want her to be mine, so I've decided I’m going to write her a poem. I mean, what other options do I have? I've never asked a girl out before, and I’m not really sure how dating works, especially at the age of 14. I've never even had a real girlfriend, so I‘m writing her a poem. Here’s what I've got so far:

The sparkling smile on your face

It makes my heart begin to race

Your light brown curly wavy hair

Puts joy and goodness in the air

Your pretty face, sweet as candy

Always makes me feel just dandy

As you can see I think you’re fine

So it’d be great if you’d be mine

Not bad huh? Like I said I’m no poet, but it sounds good, has rhythm and whatnot. I just hope she likes it, and she’s not a poetry critic in her spare time. In about a week, our church’s youth group is having a summer camp. I’m almost positive she’ll be there, I think I’ll give her the poem there. 

It’s the second day of camp, she’s here, and I have the poem on a piece of paper in an envelope in my pocket. On the envelope it says, “Read this in your cabin,” cause I don’t want everyone at camp to see my love letter. Now it’s dinner time, all day today I haven’t been able to work up enough courage to give it to her. What if she says no? I told myself I wouldn’t let it bother me, there are other people out there, and I’m still young. But I know deep down it would kill me. Eventually I decide I’m not going to think about it anymore, I’m just going to give it to her. I know I might be rejected, but I’ll hate myself later if I never try.

I get up, trying to be secretive I tell my friends I’m just going to get a refill. On the way back to my table I pull the envelope out of my pocket, meaning to just place it on the table in front of her, it leaves my hand and lands right in the middle of her plate and gets ketchup and mustard on it. I’m such a klutz! I got mustard on the letter! How romantic is that!?

I return to my table a few feet away, she reads the words on the envelope aloud and she giggles along with her friends at the table. Was she laughing at me? Oh god I hope it’s something else. One of her friends says something patronizing to me from her table, making fun of me for writing a love letter. But my crush defends me, saying it might not be from me. I’m starting to get nervous, I mean really nervous. What’s she going to say? My hands start shaking, so much that I have to concentrate to get my fork to my mouth without losing all my food. My friend sees what’s going on and says something half-jokingly reassuring, but I’m so nervous I don’t pay attention. 

The mind-numbing tension continues for about 10 minutes while she finishes dinner, and goes off to her cabin to read it. I see her walking back and I take a deep breath to prepare myself. Once she reaches me she compliments me, saying the poem was really sweet. For a second I’m sure she’s going to say yes. But she continues and says that she’s not ready for a relationship, and she doesn’t quite feel the same way about me.

She walks away and I feel my heart explode, and it’s one of the worst pains I’ve ever felt in my whole life. I feel terrible, I just want to dig a hole, bury myself and die. What went wrong? Was it the mustard on the envelope? Was the poem really garbage? Did she just say it was sweet cause she felt sorry for me? Did the poem sound creepy? Does she just not like me? What went wrong?

[fishloaf-blog]

"It's Just a Rabbit

just so you know you will find this poem a lot funnier if you've seen monty python's quest for the holy grail

We were brought to it by an enchanter named Tim

He warned us of its’ great power

He told us all that we would cower

With tales of teeth and claws and terror

And piles of skeletons around its lair

And for a minute we believed him

Then we saw it, and found it quite funny

The bad scary beast was only a bunny

So I commanded my men to kill it and clear the path

that’s when we felt the “little bunny’s” wrath

It ate the last of sir robin’s minstrels

And decapitated two others

It dispatched them with great speed

Going straight for their jugulars

Run away! Run away! I ordered my men

If ever we were to get past its’ den

We would need to regroup

And make up a plan

I asked them

Does anyone have anything?

And they replied

No but sir you are our king

Aren’t you the man

That makes up the plan?

Well, I thought to myself, King IS the highest accolade

I know! I said to them We’ll use the holy hand grenade!

So we called our clergyman

And he gave us his instruction

On the proper use of the holy hand grenade of Antioch

Then I pulled the pin and summoned my wits

To blow the vicious vermin to little bits

[fishloaf-blog]

butterfly knife

You’re sharp,

You’re scary,

You’re mean,

The flash of your blade

Causes the squeamish to cringe

As it rotates on an axis of intimidation

You’re a centrifugal force to be reckoned with

You’re a symbol of crime,

You’re a cruel tool,

And your use is murder.

But maybe you just have a bad reputation

‘Cause as I twirl you around in my hand

I see that you are beautiful.

You glide through the air

With snappy speed and grace

You fly around in my grasp

As if you were alive

The light reflects off of you

In a series of circular flashes

You’re an extension of my fingers

[fishloaf-blog]

The Game of War

George fiddles with his M16 waiting for his squad to get the signal to go. After about a minute he hears on his radio, “All right team! Let’s move! Stay focused, and stay alive!” The whole squad rushes into battle and disperses throughout the fort. George sprints to a two-story building, runs up the stairs and sets a claymore mine at the top, and starts waiting in the tower. For a half a minute he sees no one. Then he spots two of the enemy soldiers running down the path adjacent to the tower. He aims, and pulls the trigger on the grenade launcher attached to the bottom of his gun. It’s a perfect shot, the grenade touches down right in between both of them, blowing them to pieces.

George waits a little while longer and he sees another enemy soldier coming from the other end of the path. He launches his other grenade. It explodes a few feet away from him, but he survives and starts returning fire. “What the? He‘s still alive!?” George thinks  as he takes cover from the bullets whizzing past his head. George crawls to another window, launches himself back up, and quickly aims and puts a couple shots in the enemy’s torso. As the enemy lies on the ground dead, George notices the soldier is wearing a flak jacket.

George hears some footsteps downstairs, and someone talking into a radio. He reaches into his pack and pulls out his RC-XD, (remote controlled explosive device) He drives it down the stairs and around the corner, and detonates it. His kill is confirmed by the “OH SH--” preceding the explosion and the blood now splattered on the wall. 

George keeps camping in the top of the building, and guns down two more enemy men. He radios in an air strike on the other end of the fort. As George is keeping watch out the window, he hears an explosion at the top of the stairs. “Thank you, claymore,” George whispers to himself. 

George checks the stairway to scavenge some ammo from the dead body. He pulls a grenade off the dead man’s belt and hears someone else coming. George pulls the pin on the grenade, waits a few seconds, and throws it down the stairs. More blood is splattered on the wall.

George gets back to the window. He doesn’t see anyone. He calls on his radio for an attack helicopter. Right as he puts his radio back on his shoulder he hears some gunshots, and a bullet clips his shoulder. He crouches and gets away from the window, and he sees a flurry of bullets burst through the wall near the window. George stays down and hears someone yell, “Tossing frag!”

“Uh-Oh.” A grenade flies through the window and onto the ground. George dives away from the grenade, and it explodes while he’s in mid-air. He hits the ground with a “Thud!” The explosion shakes him up quite a bit. George tries to get up but realizes one of his legs is broken. He barely has enough strength to lift his M16, so he leaves it on the ground and un-holsters his colt m1911. George, still on the ground, see’s the man who threw the grenade rounding the stairway, so he points his pistol in his general direction, and empties his magazine. George gets lucky and hits him twice in the legs and once in the head. George lies on the ground, hoping one of his comrades will come and give him medical attention, but no one finds him. Bleeding out, George dies an agonizingly slow death.

George puts down his Xbox controller and decides to grab a quick snack while he waits to respawn.