I think about you sometimes, but these times are times when I am not thinking, or at least I am not right in the head. I cannot remember the last time I was right in the head. I never learned the difference between not right and not wrong. It only exists when I am not thinking about you, which is most of the time. I can still remember how your hands felt on my face when you would try to caress it…rough…scratchy…There was nothing soft about you, concrete with a heartbeat…somewhat. I forgot to tell you…one last thing…you can go fuck yourself.
Author: ggkalfas
G.G. Kalfas is an American born author and publisher. He is also the noted author of many books, which encompass his experiences within life and death, as these experiences are displayed through the subject matter of his short stories. His intention for writing these books, is to display the importance of philosophy and psychology, as they play an integral part of the development contained within the experience of the human condition. Within his development, G.G. was compelled towards music, poetry, art, philosophy, and psychology. He was also the lead guitarist in a Houston based metal band, as well as the owner of an underground art gallery. He now spends his time writing about the darkness within the human expression, while exploring the hidden knowledge contained within the depths of life, death, and what may or may not exist beyond human consciousness.
The Giving Hand
nurtured in the way of death
supreme discovery
wilted awake
torturing the slumber of your destiny
the giving hands are tied
your words that lied
as you laid with me
forsaken trust shattered my lust
skin with no name on my lips
from behind i showed you who i was
now you know all of me
not the inside
that part is safe
a secret you will never know
my shadow is all you know
you try to hide within it
they can still see you
a wilted rose of flame and blame
Your Eyes Are on Them
You sat there quietly and patiently waiting to speak. You were statuesque still, except for your right leg. It was shaking so violently, as though your leg was trying to escape from your body. You kept wiping your mouth off with the palm of your left hand. Still statuesque, except for the exodus leg and your left hand. It finally came, your turn to speak. A loud boisterous voice escaped from your throat. The voice does not match the frail malnourished body it escaped from. You started ripping into the other people that were in the room; how they come in and unload all of their problems and drama onto the others. You compared it to verbal vomit, verbal diarrhea. You kept going on and on about how this upset you. It actually angered you that people come into this room, selfishly, and metaphorically, unloading all of their shit onto the floor and on everyone else. You continued to explain how fucked up this is and how selfish it is; and when they finish, they always get up and leave after they have unloaded. After you said all that was able to escape from your throat, you went back to your statuesque posture, except for the exodus leg and your left palm wiping off your mouth. After about a minute had gone by, you did exactly what you were complaining about. You verbally unloaded on everyone and everything in the room, got up, and walked out. You did the exact thing that made you angry. I found this quality in you disappointing. After the room let out, like cattle, everyone walked down the hallway, that is when you spotted me. You approached me and introduced yourself. You then started to core dump all of the shit idiosyncrasies of your life upon me. I was trying to be polite, waiting for you to finish, but you did not shut the fuck up, you just kept going, on and on. I finally could not take it anymore, I had to shut you down. I interrupted you. I asked you why you did the exact same thing that made you angry. You smiled and laughed. You said something about we either do what we love, or what we hate. I had to walk away, you are just another fucking idiot.
Lonely Hollow Sinking
It is that insecure, lonely, hollow, sinking feeling you get in the pit of your stomach sometimes at night when you are all by yourself. You know exactly what I am talking about, you have felt it before, or you could be feeling it now as you are reading these words. It will be our secret. Besides, I know all of your secrets, I know all of your aspirations, your hopes, and your dreams as well. I know everything there is to know about you, simply because you are reading these words right now. It is hard for you and I to connect with people. So, we keep journals, we keep letters, we keep our words to ourselves. We feel we have not met anyone worthy of sharing ourselves with, this is why we keep ourselves a secret. You understand now, you and I no longer need to keep secrets from one another. We found one another through these words, the words within these pages. You are me, I am you.
Omnipresent
When it is dark, and I am all alone, I think about all of the damage I could do. I think about twisting them until their flesh rips, and their bones crack, then snap away from one another. They are all tedious specimens of waste. Trying to help one another under the guise of ‘the right thing to do’. Trying to do the right thing by self-service? There is always something one wants when they give. There is no such thing as something for nothing. I am the honest one. I am the one without a mask on. I am the one, there is no doubt about it. I will kill you honestly and openly. It is not a secret and there is nothing I am hiding from anyone. I am the death of least resistance. I am always here, I am always there, I am always with you. Omnipresent. I am what you worship when you go to church. I am what you read about when you open a so-called holy book. I am the unknowable. I am the wrath of your religion.
My Mouth is Watering
The kind of pain you never knew that could exist. An entrance into the enchanted masochistic kingdom. A tearing within your diaphragm. The gleaming and blinding light of a surprise. Killing the pain as though you are trying to kill yourself. Give it a finesse. Put your back into it. Don’t ever quit. It is hard for me to focus. I have been waiting for your call. My mouth is watering. I can taste the night air. It tingles my tongue. What time are we meeting? 2 a.m. 2 kids. 2 deaths?
G.G. Kalfas 