Sunday, December 21, 2008

I died again...

"I died again..."
I'm a hollow shell of what I used to be. Long nights is how I live with bloodshot eyes and empty rooms. Empty nights and full moons. I died and didn't even notice. I died and didn't even feel it. I'm somewhere between what is and was while will be is only something for those who haven't died. And there I forget where I am and become dead everytime I remember again.
-Armando Torres

Friday, December 19, 2008

Cigarette Tip

"Cigarette Tip"
Steam rises from his lips like a cigarette tip amidst winter breeze. His eyes frozen solid inside cold hardness and his nose seized in icy chills that slice across his face. And yet he stands there like a burning tip amidst a winter breeze, like a red glow burning hot embers, a red slowly withering away as the silky lines of gray rise into the icy air and still he stands there. Somewhere hidden behind the falling white flakes lies what his eyes have found and thus have died a death frozen not in time but there where everything dies. The winter's knife edge pierces the very fabric of his reality as it slowly slides past cutting with icy precision that which he looks out to. Like a cigarette tip, burning not red embers but for today, just this December away.
-Armando Torres

Monday, December 15, 2008

Snowflake Splendor

"Snowflake Splendor"
Sitting inside as it snows with windows closed outside, the cool breaths of winter hit the edges of her pane and there the soft fog forms. And somewhere in that December white she sits in silence shedding tears for something that feels so far away. The soft yellow glow of her bed side lamp glitters off her diamond-like teardrops as they roll to the curves of her face. Alone feels so alone this time of year when your face is all she sees. Pain feels so painful when she feels only the echo of touches. The sky slowly falls outside and settles softly on the cold icy ground. Crystals of infinite shapes crack the monotony of her window and the forever gray paints a somber white picture of her December winter. The bare trees back drop the falling scenery as her eyes look out to the dying light and she sits in darkness to shed tears of snowflake splendor.
-Armando Torres

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Age of Innocence

11-11-2008 02;21;38AM

Monday, November 10, 2008

Forever Never Happens

"Forever Never Happens"
There are no rainbows or butterflies in her beautiful lie only the long empty look of her eyes. She sits drenched inside lonely gloom dripped through her apartment window, crying for the day to return. The sounds of silence deafen her within the haunted echoes of muted seclusion. She is loneliness personified soaked in lugubrious despair. Forever never lost in the moments of here and then when the beginning is only her end. She is no longer eighteen forever. No longer that sweet girl she so remembers in those moments of hollow stares. The long shadows have grabbed at her heart as she clings to the soft gloom that softly pours through her window hoping inside deep tears everything will pass. She is no longer eighteen forever because forever never happens.
-Armando Torres

Monday, November 3, 2008


Somewhere beneath these stars I stand a man looking back into the black that lay in between the pale specks of light spattered throughout the sky. Somewhere there exists a lonely point of pale light shining its whole existence into my eye in a flickering moment of irrelevance. And somehow I find those memories that add relevance to these moments under the dim points of flickering light. For my chest fills with something more than the cold night air and my eyes let fall something more than just tears. And somewhere beneath these stars I stand a man shining back his lonely point of pale light.
-Armando Torres

Monday, October 27, 2008

lonely road

"lonely road"
Damn that long dark lonely road
for it makes him feel every second of every hour.
And somehow
the moon has found this lonely man
as he speeds through the loneliness
and drips away into the black that surrounds.
Seeing only what the light reveals to him
and following only what is given,
he finds himself lost
down that damn long dark lonely road.
-Armando Torres

Thursday, October 16, 2008

I bore witness

"I bore witness"
There on that throne of skin and bone
I dare to look that which I dare to see,
I bare witness and from the darkness
moans a voice "It has come to this,"
And stand where my feet should stay
I look upon that devil as it turns and says to me,
bare witness to this,
And a horrifying beast marched out from darkness
with pain and suffering in follow forged in the fires of misery,
And stand where my feet should stay
I look upon that beast as it snarls and says to me,
bare witness to this,
And a man from shadow comes forth draped in blood and sorrow,
Plagued by the haunting memories of man's thought
he rot as to cry those tears of things not,
There under that hood of blood and pain
I dare to see that which he cried to me,
bare witness to this,
And all those thoughts of mine
were plagued with stains
and I cried those tears of things gone
forever forgetting
I bore witness to this.

I look upon that devil
as I fall further into my own abyss,
forever forgetting
I had caused all this.
-Armando Torres

Monday, October 13, 2008

...looking back

"...looking back"
All that is left is the echo,
the hollow shell of a past life I once followed.
All I have is darkness to drink
and sorrow to wallow in.
Now at my end I am gone, forever losing my view and sight,
forever in time but now nothing is left
but the looming regret
as it echoes continuously
throughout my head.
-Armando Torres

Friday, October 10, 2008


He stands there waiting for you ever so carefully , just waiting;
There behind the shadows, back behind the cries of sorrow, just waiting,
Somwhere there right in front but hidden away from the sun,
Waiting for the day to grab the words you say and crumble your world away,
Just waiting there back behind the faces, there where a moment meets time
and a thought meets reality
He stands there waiting for you ever so carefully, just waiting.
-Armando Torres

Friday, September 19, 2008

-Armando Torres

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Dear Marie

"Dear Marie,

Oh sweet Marie, I understand now why we couldn't be as I put this pen down to this sheet, its becasue I couldn't realize your sacrifice for me. I don't and won't ever deserve you so goodbye and be good as I try to let you fade as you let fade my 'I love you's'. The whispers of a past we once shared doesn't let me forget so easily and so there you stay in my faintest image. I realize now I postponed your life; realize now I was your lie and you were probably better off without us being You and I; better off without me by your side. But you were the only beauty in these sad eyes and I realize now you were better off. I understand now why we couldn't be, its because I couldn't realize your sacrifice for me. I don't deserve you so now I say I love you and goodbye. I now know I postponed your life and it kills me on the inside to know this was the way. I miss you I do but I have to look past these haunting memories that once brought so much light to my day. I miss you I do but I have to look past, so goodbye and be good. I love you."

Monday, September 8, 2008

empty tears

"empty tears"
There in the dismal glow of the television screen he finds himself crying again not because it hurts but because its there again. He sits silently inside his chair lost inside his own mind as the tv spits its blues and greens onto his face. A bottle of Jack sits by his side as his arm hangs over the armrest and his fingers dangle but a mere space away. The ice in his glass has long since melted but he prefers his whiskey warm anyway when that pain has him so torn. His whiskey stained tears roll down his face as he searches for the logic of this darkness. Remnants of the day no longer linger on his walls but the wear of the night hangs low under his eyes. His lips have not tasted a sweet touch for so long but find the bittersweet company of a warm whiskey bottle every night. The thick smell of tears and whiskey and sweat hang heavy in his room as he sits inside his own stench of bitterness to question his darkness as it knows not of his pain. Drenched in his own depressing filth he grabs that empty glass again and pours his liquid destruction again not because it hurts but because that pain is there again.
-Armando Torres

Thursday, September 4, 2008

the divide

"the divide"
Its easier to see in the dark all those things that we find hard, all those things we would want gone but instead are there in those few moments that last for so long. Your eyes are lost waiting for past sweet things to come alive and remind you of a life once better than this.
Then the hardness of black starts to soften and you find your eyes lost again,
the reality of my life in this moment is not divided by the shutting of my eyes but instead is bled together
and somewhere the line between you and I lost its meaning and we became one in the same.
The endless abyss of all those things we missed now exists when I open my eyes and I no longer see the soft blue glow of moonlight, I no longer hear the gentle breaths of wind or feel the soft carress of things seen,
I no longer exist outside this endless darkness because its easier to see in the dark all those things we missed.
-Armando Torres

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Those beautiful eyes

"Those beautiful eyes"
The night silence surrounds us both as I hear nothing but my own deep breaths,
My heart jumps as it first feels your hand touch mine and I fight to control your opened thighs,
Somewhere in this soft darkness I feel your breath inch closer to mine as my hand so softly slides up your arm where it finds a comfortable home beside those eyes,
I look upon your face as the moonlight glitters inside your elegant eyes falling even more mesmorized with every moment fueling this arousing passion that I can no longer ignore,
Somewhere in those eyes, your beautiful eyes, I lost all self control and fell more in love with this feeling,
my hand continues to wander as I nibble on your ear whispering sweet nothings for you to hear, I let you feel my delicate brushes of my fingertips around your naval as I fall even more in love with this lust, under your blouse my hand has wandered and I'm too far in love to ever look back to ponder,
all over my body an uncontrollable shiver of desire has overwhelmed my senses and all I want is for our naked bodies to be against one another as we feel the silky sensation of our skin sliding against each other,
I want our lips touching with eyes closed so tight,
I want our breaths deep and long as we slide back and forth,
I want to feel you from the inside, again and again and again with
nothing but our sweat and soft moans for the moment,
I want it all but Im still only here staring into your eyes,
your beautiful eyes.
-Armando Torres

Monday, August 25, 2008

hollowed thoughts

"hollowed thoughts"
I wait in so many ways for this pain to go away but everytime my mind touches them the misery becomes real again. Like when the light slips up over the dark and the veil is stripped away making me see what it is this darkness would have me live with. Why I say for I dont ask anymore, so why I say inside every moment of every day beside the lurking fear of finding it again today. There is no place left inside this hallowed shell of pain, nowhere left to go and nothing left to see but this empty shell of misery. Knowing not within time where other than here holds all I want to know, two places at once, nothing I can do so knowing nothing I lose all I once knew. I know not what you speak of and I dare not know that which I do not understand for there lies at my hands that which I cannot grasp just to haunt me in my face with all that I do not understand.
-Armando Torres

Thursday, August 21, 2008

My Inspiration

I don't do regualar posts on this blog but I have gotten a lot of questions asking me where I get my inspiration from to write my pieces. So I decided that I would just dive a little into my thought process so you guys can understand where my writing stems from. Firstly, not all my writing is pulled from personal experiences, its just that I understand personal issues real well and I can strip away everything with an unbiased perspective to the point where these ideas exist just barely enough where most overlook them. What I do is try to get in the right state of mind, I try to ignore distractions but I dont get rid of them because every little sound, image, or touch can evoke a certain feeling or idea that you may have otherwised overlooked.

Once I find that one feeling or idea, I strip everything away from it leaving only the very essence of what makes it real and I try to understand how its real. I look at the very building blocks of an emotion or feeling and I look at it like a stone in my hand. I see it from all angles and see it for what it is. I am now free to add any situation to it, free to fabricate its existence and create the feeling.

Its easy to get lost in an idea and we do it all the time when we daydream. Sometimes I get so lost in a thought, I go blind to the world around me and venture into this fabricated realm that I have created just to fine tune the feelings one would feel in a certain situation, almost to the point of having to live it. And for me, inspiration can come from anywhere, a song, a person, the sound of the wind blowing the leaves outside my window, the clouds looking down on me, the way the grass feelings against the palm of my hands, everything evokes a certain feeling and most ignore those feelings where I try to realize they are there and understand what my mind is feeling when it happens. Its those little things that really build the complicated mess of emotion and thought a person is encompassed of because everything stems from somewhere. You take it back to the most basic of things and you realize the beauty of how intricate an emotion can be and its butterfly effect.

I try to think about the things people are scared to acknowledge or just dont realize that are there. I try to find the things that have fallen in through the cracks that leave only the emotion. I find the feeling behind the emotion. I see the little pieces inside the machine, I see the intricate and complex beauty of a distorted, jumbled mess of thoughts and sort them out. One at a time.

pictures from deviantart

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Thick Blanket

"Thick Blanket"
On a lonely quiet summer night I sit in silence waiting for that slice of time. My wandering eyes find their way around the tiny sounds of midnight and ponder. The soft gurgling of the stream grabs hold of my ears and I listen; I listen to the deepest thoughts of where there is nowhere left to go. The night is the thick blanket that accompanies me when my mind is cold, it is the companion to dark thought; the darkest thoughts of night. Waiting for that thin sliver to call my own inside the cesspool of lonesome questions that live inside shadow, I wander about only to find that I exist to cause myself pain and I lose myself again. I lose myself every time the night grows dark.
-Armando Torres

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

A single solitary tear

"A single solitary tear"
I live with the pain inside everyday of my life and everytime I stare at the ceiling lying awake at night I drift away from everything that is and was and realize the early morning frost forming on my window, staining my eyes with what seems like forever and falling into that single solitary moment where time seems to count for nothing. All I feel is the emptiness before my eyes, the hallowed out memories of a life not worth living and yet the early morning frost forms. The droplets streak down the glass leaving their trail for my eyes to follow, not waiting for the world to notice, just waiting for my eyes to hallow. Everytime the night grows long the pain inside streaks down may face leaving a trail for no one to follow and still the early morning frost forms. The thin crystals of ice await my eyes to find that single solitary moment, existing for that one brief instant to stain my mind as I watch here in this mirror my single solitary tear. To drift away from everything that is and was and realize here in this mirror all my pain poured into this single solitary tear as it holds the truth of how vain it really is. These eyes stare into my soul as my tear rolls downward to the end of its existence, to finallly let go crashing unto the floor to nevermore be a part of my soul.
-Armando Torres

Saturday, August 9, 2008

a feeling?

"a feeling?"
Here I am feeling it again, a feeling from so long ago felt for someone whom had no face and died a death only as memory but here it is again, felt again and still waiting. I can feel it creep up again long after what was deemed the end and yet this moment still exists waiting for the right alignment. Still lingering to find a moment cut from time, to exist forever folded upon itself never to let go and to always have that moment. You remembered me before you knew me and I longed for something I never knew was there, you felt the touch of my memory in a brief moment of alignment before we ever met, wandering leisurely with only those moments with no space in between to ever know we were ever together in a tiny slice of time cut away from the rest. In that moment we saw only the best thats why the pain is so real, thats why the pain is so deep, because I can feel it creep up again long after I thought I had left it behind, but I lied, I saw it again somewhere in those eyes, and in the end there to stand alone am I because I saw it again somewhere behind those eyes.
-Armando Torres

Tuesday, August 5, 2008


When will that last goodbye escape my lips? Those last words I hope to say and yet here I stand above your grave. I say it everyday and mean it in a moment. I walk away everyday and the remnants of those dead days lingers on my face. When will that last goodbye escape my lips? Like the moment you drift to sleep, never knowing when it happens; you just fall into the darkness in a peaceful tumble, sinking away from reality, resting peacefullly until those dreams remind you. When will that last goodbye escape my lips?
-Armando Torres

Monday, July 28, 2008


I sit here alone,
For I know no one
and no one knows me
as I sit here alone in these streets,
no one can see me
and no one wants to see me,
so I constantly sleep
in these shadows,
having the darkness all to my own
to sit in all alone
with dirt on this face and raggedy clothes,
these weary eyes have seen the dark
and this lonely mind has been lonely for a very long time;
In the shadows I stay
to die alone
away from a world I was never a part of,
I die and the world will never know
never to show-a tear,
or grow
to embrace me,
For no one can see me,
Nothing is all I can be
in a world that has forgotten me,
to sit alone in these streets
to die alone where no one will see
to leave this world
and have no one ever remember me,
Because I know no one
and no one knows me.
-Armando Torres

Friday, July 25, 2008

that old wooden wall

"that old wooden wall"
He sits in the corner inside that old wooden house, inside that old wooden chair staring into that old wooden wall; he remembers with eyes glazed over looking back on this warm summer day as the warm rays pour through the window warming his old weary face. The dust dances slowly through the thin yellow lines of light shining through that barren room of wood and walls. Those eyes have lost all meaning no longer seeing that worn wall but into something that fills his face empty with despair. Nothing remains in that room but a man and a chair.
-Armando Torres

Thursday, July 17, 2008

The soft light

"The soft light"
This soft gloom exists only for what I can find to write
as it fends off the looming shadows,
I see those steps extending upwardly into the sky
as they hide behind those devious white clouds,
and somewhere between the lines I can feel it,
and somewhere underneath the sounds I can hear it,
and somewhere in the darkness I can see it,
This soft gloom exists only for what I can find to write

Writing in the dark in so many ways
brings all that I'd rather forget
but instead its where its all I can see.
Somewhere in the darkness lies everything I am,
waiting for that one moment for me to realize
so to fall deeper into the darkness,
to look forever and never find that soft light
that I had to write in,
that I had for anything and everything

Somewhere behind my closed eyes
there in the almagamation of thoughts and darkness
lays in wait that one moment of my life where I realize
that I am no longer alive,
that one moment where what I find to write
is never found by that soft light.
-Armando Torres

Sunday, July 13, 2008

lost and never found

"lost and never found"
I searched for something to hold on to, grabbing wildly and finding nothing
and I searched for the seperating line for where the day ends and the night begins,
I searched for the air to breath as I felt my life drip out of me, gasping uncontrollably and breathing painfully
and I searched for the upside down mountains as I circled around again,
I searched for the strength to keep my eyes open, blinking wildly and finding nothing to see
and I searched for the vertical horizon that stretches from below and back up to the sky again,
I searched for the words to become the last words I would ever say, moaning deeply and finding nothing to say
and I searched for someone as I laid there alone, looking wildly and finding no one,
I searched for that one person who would watch me fade and found only the last breath I would ever take,
I searched and found no one and nothing to say,
I searched and found nothing and no one...
-Armando Torres

Monday, July 7, 2008

Miss me?

"Miss me?"
You would turn twenty-one today and I remember the way you would say that today was the day; that today was your day. As I look back that way into that gray haze I try to remember through the mist but I'm lost. As I look back through my fog I don't want to leave you but I'm lost again today and no longer can I see past this fog. You would turn twenty-one today and I can remember your face and the way you taste, I remember that today you said those words on your death bed now forever repeating inside my head and still I refuse to listen. They echo forever inside my mind and every time I hear them I can see you. I remember seeing that last breath escape your lips as the life left your eyes and still I won't listen. You would turn twenty-one today and I remember the way you would say that today was your day to die. I look back that way into that gray haze to hear your words; "don't miss me on this day" you said. "Don't miss me today."
-Armando Torres

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Those Eyes

"Those Eyes"
Into those gleaming eyes I see the misery of your life; I see all those things in your dreams all the secret little things kept in secret from everything, but in those eyes I can see all your lies. You have no feelings but the pain where it stains your feelings for evermore. Leaving you so empty inside with eyes that seem to die everytime the light touches them. No longer open to see all those things you swore you saw but never seen. Swore to never miss but missed all there is to miss, saw all there is to see but never saw all that you missed. I left a hallow shell of me inside your memories, to be destroyed in a dance of thoughts and memories to finally die a death only darkness will see.
-Armando Torres

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Bluebird by Charles Bukowski


there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
you want to blow my book sales in

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
and we sleep together like
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
-Charles Bukowski

Tupac Shakur: "Only God can Judge me"

I took the liberty and edited it as to only include Tupac's parts.

"Only God can Judge Me"
Only God can judge me, is that right?
[synth voice] Only God can judge me now
Only God baby, nobody else, nobody else
All you other motherfuckers get out my business

[Verse One: 2Pac]

Perhaps I was blind to the facts, stabbed in the back
I couldn't trust my own homies just a bunch a dirty rats
Will I, succeed, paranoid from the weed
And hocus pocus try to focus but I can't see
And in my mind I'ma blind man doin time
Look to my future cause my past, is all behind me
Is it a crime, to fight, for what is mine?
Everybody's dyin tell me what's the use of tryin
I've been Trapped since birth, cautious, cause I'm cursed
And fantasies of my family, in a hearse
And they say it's the white man I should fear
But, it's my own kind doin all the killin here
I can't lie, ain't no love for the other side
Jealousy inside, make em wish I died
Oh my Lord, tell me what I'm livin for
Everybody's droppin got me knockin on heaven's door
And all my memories, of seein brothers bleed
And everybody grieves, but still nobody sees
Recollect your thoughts don't get caught up in the mix
Cause the media is full of dirty tricks
Only God can judge me

[Verse Two: 2Pac]

I hear the doctor standing over me
screamin I can make it
Got a body full of bullet holes layin here naked
Still I, can't breathe, somethings evil in my IV
Cause everytime I breathe, I think they killin me
I'm having nightmares, homicidal fantansies
I wake up stranglin, danglin my bed sheets
I call the nurse cause it hurts, to reminisce
How did it come to this? I wish they didn't miss
Somebody help me, tell me where to go from here
Cause even Thugs cry, but do the Lord care?
Try to remember, but it hurts
I'm walkin through the cemetary talkin to the, dirt
I'd rather die like a man, than live like a coward
There's a ghetto up in Heaven and it's ours, Black Power
is what we scream as we dream in a paranoid state
And our fate, is a lifetime of hate
Dear Mama, can you save me? And fuck peace
Cause the streets got our babies, we gotta eat
No more hesitation each and every black male's trapped
And they wonder why we suicidal runnin round strapped
Mista, Po-lice, please try to see that it's
a million motherfuckers stressin just like me
Only God can judge me

[Interlude: 2Pac]

That which does not kill me can only make me stronger
(That's for real)
and I don't see why everybody feel as though
that they gotta tell me how to live my life
(You know?)
Let me live baby, let me live

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Red Paint

"Red Paint"
The echoes sway back and forth inside my head and yet all I can hear are the soft slaps of the droplets of rain. I can no longer hear what was said and instead see your red lights driving away. I wanted to say the right thing but my lips now only let out the last soft breaths these ears will ever hear and somewhere lying inside the drenched darkness I stay watching the rain as the droplets drop onto my dying face. As my gut painfully paints the road red the pain inside my head slowly melts away and the echoes of your last words sway back and forth. But somewhere between the cool wetness on my face and the hard sting above my waist I find my calm. The pain of your life streams from my eyes as I realize why I died for you. I wanted to say the right thing; I wanted to say so many things but your eyes painted in red laid to rest all we had. The sharp cold gray stained of deep crimson now lies by your side to which it left me to lay eyes upward lost in the falling rain. I'm sorry I wanted to say but the pain of your life now paints red my eyes as I realize why I died for you.
-Armando Torres

Monday, June 23, 2008

The Death of Silence

"The Death of Silence"
The midnight chirps of the crickets outside reminded him of the dark summer night that surrounded him. It’s in this darkness that he lays to hear the midnight sounds where he found the death of silence. The night swept in on a hot summer breeze and he was somehow perplexed by the idea of thought. Something outside the window pane began to move when the thoughts started to drip in. His eyes were wide as they darted around the room from one sound to the next as he tried to piece together the shapeless void that lay before him. What else was moving out there, he wondered? Was he alone? He didn’t know. The soft chirps of the crickets seemed more purposeful now as they had more meaning in their rhythm. Something was moving in his closet, he was sure of that. He could hear the soft steps of someone inside that door, the whispers slipped in through the slits and somehow he knew the voices would subside.

He had stacks of books piled in the corners, mounds of newspapers scattered on the floor, an over-used computer on a worn-out desk sitting next to his window that looked out to the street and sidewalk. He could hear people talking as they passed by, sometimes about their droll lives but sometimes about him. Somewhere mixed in with their pointless banter about their dead end jobs and cheating bitch wives he could hear pieces underneath their jabber like a chair showing through a covering blanket; certain words would stick out. Every third or fourth word contained something he had to write down, a message, a plan, something hidden and he had to find it.

His face showed the reality of age from worrying about the whispers planning something against him. His weary eyes had painted deep black recessions around themselves from the long nights he spent working on his computer. He wore an old blue moth-ball infested robe, long dark hair draped over the collar as it hung open loosely. Long nights he spent hunched over his keyboard typing away at his thoughts that seemed to peer over his shoulder from every dark sound that crept around his room at the moment. Something about the night quieted the loud voices and let the whispers be heard. He would listen and with every noise that seemed suspicious there his eyes would lay, red with wear over his shoulders and bugged out. Every blood vessel ready to erupt and bleed crimson tears and he wouldn’t care, he would let them fall where they may, to leave their blood stained path along his face. He didn’t care; he had no time to occupy with the appearance of his face. He would rarely see his face in the light anyway. The only mirror he had was a broken piece of shit in the bathroom. Broken from when the faces started to taunt him, when they started to haunt him.

His life consisted of nothing more than what his mind could conjure and as he stared into the dismal gray glow of his computer screen he realized the inevitability of his life. A soft creek crawled to his ears and his eyes darted over his shoulders where they would stare glazed over as if his eyes were the ones to hear the sounds. He wondered for a bit who would find him and came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t matter because after all, he would be gone. What could they do to him? He would show them that they couldn’t mess with him; he would beat them to the punch.

As he wandered about his small confined area he knew it had to be done. His head contained too much information for them to have; he had to leave or else it would be too dangerous to give them the opportunity to have it. Just then a banging on the door began, bang bang bang! It was them! He knew they would come. He had to hurry they wouldn’t give him much time. He ran to his computer and destroyed all his encrypted information he had gathered over the years. The banging got louder, he had to hurry! All the preparations had been made, he wouldn’t let them get him that easily. He was ready. He stepped onto a stool in front of his door as the banging became more violent and methodical. He stood there staring for a second as the door shook from the pounding it was receiving. The hinges on the door were ready to break off. Finally, he closed his eyes and took one last breath and realized he was ready. He tipped over his tiny stool and hung there for a moment. As his eyes faded to black the banging had stopped. Nothing was left but the sound of swaying rope being stretched tightly.
-Armando Torres

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Dying by Emily Dickinson

I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.

The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.

I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,-and then
There interposed a fly,

With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.

-Emily Dickinson

Friday, June 20, 2008

My faintest image

"My faintest image"
There you are in my faintest image, in the corner of my mind. There you are smiling back at me forever forgetting me and the life we were once supposed to have; nothing more than a ghostly image of memories. They haunt me so deep. I fight back my sorrow filled tears just to remember them. I want to say I miss you but I would be the only one to hear it. Though, there you are in my faintest image missing you and your smile, the touch of your lips against mine, the comfort of your arms around me. I miss you I do but I'll never say it. Everything we had in a life that once existed between you and I has fallen into the water; with every passing moment it sinks deeper further from me. I have fallen in too it feels. I watch you as I drown away into the infinite darkness fighting just to be remembered. I miss you I do, but I'll never say it. I will forever have your picture in my faintest image, haunting me, making me cry the tears that I should have shed so long ago. Now all that is left is the haunting echo of your sweet "I love you's."
-Armando Torres

Monday, June 2, 2008

My Cosmic Trip

"My Cosmic Trip"
Something plays on the T.V. but I'm not watching. Its dull blues and greens are spat on my walls dripping to where the cool darkness watches from outside the window as the crickets play my elegy; I've gone. I see something else in the empty space before me. The gentle daze of night covers my eyes where I rise above the midnight clouds to fly with the moonlight; I exist in the endless cosmos and catch the passing wave to ride through the stars as the dogs howl in the distance, the moon bathes the grass in a deep blue and my eyes soak themselves inside it to which I then remember. The feeling washes over me and covers my every inch of existence where I fall ten million miles and crash back to my television.
-Armando Torres

Friday, May 23, 2008

To The Whore Who Took My Poems by Charles Bukowski

"To The Whore Who Took My Poems"

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much

-Charles Bukowski

A poem by William Carlos Williams

As the cat
climbed over
the top of

the jamcloset
first the right

then the hind
stepped down

into the pit of
the empty

-- William Carlos Williams.


It was 3:30am on the dot when I heard gun shots outside my window. A deep bass and crack from somewhere filled the silent night. I sat in my room wondering who was shot and if there was a dieing man at that very moment taking his last breaths. Violently gasping for air, gargling and choking on his own blood as it filled his throat. I heard police sirens in the distance and some more gunshots, so I knew there was a fire fight. What were they using? Shotguns, glocks, .357 magnums, they had to have been using something with a punch because after a couple of moments of silence a final deep drum like thud rushed into my ears and I knew it was over. I imagined that last shot to be a desperate man's escape from a justice system that would have locked him away forever. A shotgun to the head I imagined, leaving nothing but a bloody mess and a haunting image for whoever was unfortunate enough to witness it. After that last shot I could hear dogs howling in the distance, some barking in the wake of the chaos and some howling to the moon. What happened out there in that night? There must be a bloody crime scene out there waiting to be investigated, dead bodies lying on the ground in unnatural poses, brain chunks sprayed around sparatically, empty shells sprinkled over the ground, dead faces waiting to gaze deep into someone's subconscious. Whatever happened was no business of mine but that fear ran down my spine because I knew it could have easily become my business. Someone died that night and I heard the sounds of that death. A double barrel grinding against his teeth and then click, nothing left but a disturbing image ready to keep me awake at night. For me the night rushed back as soon as silence filled the air but out there, the night had just begun.
-Armando Torres

Tuesday, May 20, 2008


In the darkness that lingers around us all there exists something that tells us, tempts us, chooses us, and crushes us inside a paradox of sweetest things. He knows when you think of him and pounces all at once to where ever welcomes him. He sits in your room looming ever closer as your mind wanders towards him. Knowing the very moment to engulf your reality, overwhelming your eyes in horrors you never wanted to see. Granted all you know has some truth for there would be your proof to believe because in all that was misleading in his words there would be a base to fake his truths to you. But as your strength falters nothing you knew would hold true when the temptations overwhelm you. You would never know you gave in so long ago. Beginning your own demise in your eyes of a few moments before you so blindly gave away all that was of worth. His words have burned through your soul tearing apart your mind leaving the shell of a man, lifeless and hallow. A man who will never understand all he wanted to know. A man in eternal damnation burning in the fires of misery never knowing the lies were the only truths he realized.
-Armando Torres

Those ominous gray Clouds

"Those ominous gray Clouds"
I chased you, ran after you, followed you but I couldn't keep up. I lost you and there I stood under those ominous gray clouds looking up teasing me to give up but everytime I gazed above I could see your face only a distance away. So I ran, I ran until the air in my throat burned and my lungs pushed out against my chest, until the very tissue of my muscles tore away and my legs collapsed; there to lay under those ominous gray clouds with sweat dripping from every pore. I stood with the fire burning in my legs as they begged for no more but I couldn't stop. I saw nothing ahead of me and nothing behind but I continued to try and find you. But here I now lay eyes upward toward those gray ominous clouds watching for your face and I see it only a distance away. I lay here a tattered tired man who has given up running and has found you only a distance away.
-Armando Torres

Saturday, May 17, 2008

The Dead Night

Here is my piece that was a finalist in the Wordclay writing contest. I have posted this on my other blog; After Dinner Mint but I thought I should share it here as well.

"The Dead Night"
There I sit in the quiet darkness of it all wondering how it came to this; hearing the tiny chirps of the crickets outside the window seal and the soft midnight breeze brush against the leaves. Nothing is left but the calmness of the night; the dead calm of it all. The night sky sitting above watching, with thousands of eyes, the things we do to satisfy that moment of urge. There I sit in silent darkness with my witness above and my eyes below; there I sit to wonder how it came to this. I sit with my head hung low inside my chair whose squeaks are the only other noise to slice the dead silence of this night. I rock my chair this night like never before and for the first time, I can hear the silence of black, the calmness of night; I can feel the cold chill of darkness. Drip dripping the cold blood on my hands; trickling to the floor staining a deep red. Drip dripping the cold blood not of my own. Drip dripping this silence of night off my hands. I stare with my head hung low by the window seal at the dead calm of it all. I sit in darkness wondering how it came to this but realize the silence of my answer. Nothing is left but the calmness of this night.
-Armando Torres


I entered the Wordclay seasonal writing contest for poetry and was one of 100 finalists chosen. I, along with all the finalists and the winner were included in the Best Modern Voices: A Poetry Anthology. I just thought I would share one of the poems I liked from the anthology, this one was the runner up. It's a very well constructed piece and resonates far after you've finished reading.

I used to be an ocean vast and filled with life. I could account
for everything, for I'd been there for all time. I used to stretch
for miles; I used to take up all the earth. I used to be everyone's
everything; you'll just have to take my word for it.

I used to be a great lake. I used to be the biggest one. I was the
womb from which the moon was birthed when the sun had finally
gone. I used to glitter all the time, rain or shine, and day or night.
I was the place you brought your girl to ask her hand in marriage.
You used to contemplate your days at my water's edge.

Then I turned into a pond perfect to sail upon. The best of friends
spent many times together, fishing and laughing until the day was
done. I used to be the spot you watched fireworks burst on the
fourth of July. And I froze up in December when you learned your
best friend had died. I even used to hug the ground where your
family dog now lays.

And then I was a river, quickly flowing over time. I used to carve
sharp rocks into perfect skipping stones. I used to breathe a
constant pace. I used to carry my own beat. You used to come to
me just to wash your dirty feet. We watched the stars together; we
used to spill the same amount of tears. I watched you bloom and
grow; together we shared the best of years.

But now I am a creek, under a bridge somewhere unknown. Time
has shrunk me down, and I am here to rest alone. Some days are
better than some others; my water flows and then dries up. It
would help to have some company; it would help to have my friend.
But I just don't really know when I'll ever see her again.
-Daniel Bristol

Thursday, May 15, 2008

those Glowing eyes

"those Glowing eyes"
I sit and write my very last words; for these words have come on their own accord to describe the hidden horror that surrounds me this very moment. I cannot escape anymore for the darkness surrounds me all around. The voices whisper deep as my eyes bleed those invisible tears that burn away any hope of sleep. The voices tell me the darkest thoughts of night singeing my mind and burning deep to where all exists as a distant memory. It says nothing less in a cesspool of lonesome questions and there I see those glowing eyes. They burn with red inside my head for those eyes live to haunt me this night. The darkness of black drips on the walls and the silent moans of the wind creep in; the trees whisp back and forth outside and the howls of lurking creatures are heard in the distance. The suffocating night makes louder the sounds as the soft gloom of the moon hides behind dense black clouds, tis all for the hidden horrors to find their way back. I wait for the chirps of singing birds and the morning chill of day but my eyes are blurred in this cold stillness of gray. It says nothing less as I see those glowing eyes, for the darkness has me deceived that I cannot leave. I hope for something more but see only those glowing eyes. I wait for something more but see my haunting lies.
-Armando Torres

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

The Genius Of The Crowd by Charles Bukowski

"The Genius Of The Crowd"

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock
their finest art

-Charles Bukowski

That Blue Glow

"That Blue Glow"
He sits by the window, moonlight dripping on his face from the soft blue glow resonating from the crescent moon. He plays his guitar as the world sleeps and cries for those who do not weep. She wipes the tears from his face in elegance and glides to his window; she glances to the crescent moon to smile for those who cannot. He drips his tears onto his strings and sings their song as she can only smile into his eyes. Her haunting blue eyes hide the melancholy of her smile and his tears show the joy of his music. The softness of the night is hardened as the extravagent blue glow drops into the horizon. The night becomes a little more quiet and somber as the music and smiles are lost in the sea of darkness that washes over the world, a little more quiet and alone.
-Armando Torres

Red Wine

"Red Wine"
I poured you my finest red wine as your eyes pierced deep into my soul and we sat there among the candle lit flames. Your lips glistened in the gloom as the deep red of your lipstick burned inside my every lustful thought and we kissed.

As your soft lips caress mine I lose myself inside my closed eyes. Strong shivers run up and down my spine as our lips begin pressing in mounting passion. The night lay silent leaving only our long deep breaths and the soft sounds of our skin sliding against each other to break its stillness. The wine sits still inside its glass and the candles burn slowly; the house lay quiet except for our moving bodies slowly moving inside the candle fire casting our shadowy shapes onto the walls. In the midst of our ballet of lust you ignore the ringing of your phone; we can't hear anything but the next deep breath we take. Nothing exists for us except the next deep thrust as the phone keeps ringing. On its display it reads 'husband' as our bodies keep moving under the candle fire. We ignore as our shadows cast our lust on the walls and floor. As the mounting pressure, ring! of every moment, ring! piles on, ring! my eyes close tight and the uncontrollable shiver of pleasure shakes me to my spine. I lose myself everytime and this time I lost myself again. I lose myself inside you and this time I lost myself again.
-Armando Torres

Too Hard

"Too Hard"
Its too hard sitting outside with the sun overhead with it so bright my eyes cannot comprehend. The warm sting of its rays blankets my face as I look up into that yellow ball of flame. Today is warm like yesterday, I can't remember it but I know it; today is warm like yesterday. The sun is overhead with the hot sounds of heat making their way to my ears, the sweat drips from my brow and I imagine tomorrow to be like this. Its too hard to see the clear blue sky and the warm green grass, too hard to feel anything but the hot sting of the sun. All I feel is the burning concrete ground against my feet and the thick hot air wandering in front of my face. Thick heat waves rise from the ground, my nostrils fill with hot air and it seems I can't get away. I run to the cool escape of the sprinklers trying to elude the summer dread but its too hard to escape. Too hard to feel anything but the hot sting of the sun overhead.
-Armando Torres

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Cool drops of Water

"Cool drops of Water"
It’s that time of year again and I fight not to remember. But the December white brings oh so much and the cold grey that lingers above seems only to accompany that memory. That unnerving pressure behind these sad eyes is present again but never do I let that tear remember you. I look out at the blankness of it all; it lets me remember, lets me fill the space with whatever I want and the one piece of my life I’d rather leave behind is the only thing I can see in this vast white canvas. Swallowing the knots in my throat seems like tradition this time of year just like the big boulders of every shade of grey the kids make. I just linger away and disappear into the seemingly endless cold and fight that one tear that cries out but I will never let it remember you. Anxious for the moment when it all starts to melt away, waiting for those warm rays to touch this vast white blanket that has overlaid itself on me. Watching as those drops of cool relief drip away this white December. I look out at the warm yellows and reds from over the horizon and feel the cool water droplets of my winter stream down my face. I remember you, so goodbye finally.
-Armando Torres

In a moment

"In a moment"
Oh so softly touching your sweet skin; there's something in the way you move, in the way your curves play to my most primal desires. Feeling our skin touch, wanting my hips to fit in between your legs and my lips to brush up against yours. There's something in the way we move, in the way our bodies play to our most lustful desires. I can feel the warmth of your breath upon my lips and it uncages those carnal cravings I had locked away until this moment, where I'm rubbing up against you this moment, touching you, feeling you, locked until this moment. Forbidden until this moment, wanting you, lost in you. Watching your eyes glow in the soft light that blankets us, looking deep into mine; feeling complete trust in those eyes I lose my most sound reason inside you in a moment. Feeling you in that moment, loving you in that moment.
-Armando Torres


Awake again in the middle of the night with the soft glow of the television spattered on her face. Dark rings have found a home around her weary eyes and the droopy bags under them are just another reminder of her dreary life. Sitting alone in the dark trying to sleep she searches for the strength to keep hoping life will get better. Wrapped in one of her few ragged blankets as she tries to fight the chill that creeps into her small apartment every night, she prays. Her tired eyes finally find that slice of sleep she's been waiting for and a familiar image waiting in that darkness re-opens them and she cries. Staring down so low the salty reminders stream down her tired face and she remembers. She remembers the way she felt when she held her in her arms, the look of her tiny face and her tiny mouth. She remembers again and stays awake watching the dismal glow of the television screen. She couldn't do anything about what happened, there was nothing she could do when she had nothing. No money, no insurance, no friends, no family. She did all she could with all she had. She prayed everyday as she watched her baby die. She prayed everyday.
-Armando Torres

Last Thought

"Last Thought"
Silently sitting inside that chair staring blankly into the blue glow of the television burning against the backdrop of darkness. Specks of color are splashed on his gray unmovable face. The blues and reds and greens dance on his empty walls and he just stares blankly into the dim glow of the television set. He pictures himself hanging from the ceiling and wonders what his last thought would be.

A meaningless thought forever trapped in that one moment, no where to go but into the endless abyss awaiting all that he is. That last thought forever telling him in a moment, you will never forget. Like that last conscious moment before the veil of darkness drips over your mind and you drift to sleep. A meaningless moment forever existing.

Stepping up on that chair he slides his head through the loop; just like falling to sleep he whispers. Looking to the television set, he knocks over his goodbye and a flash of better days appears before his eyes and a hint of regret streams down his face as everything fades to black.
-Armando Torres

The Knife of Love

"The Knife of Love"
Carefully slicing away tender tissue, ripping apart muscle and cutting pass bone until the tip finally reaches the one place this knife should never be. As the blood flows out of your body and the tears in your eyes roll down your cheeks, the knife carefully cuts and makes your heart in two. The final piece of warm flesh and tissue holding it as one rips apart; your eyes glaze over, your warm tears turn cold as ice and your blood dies at it touches the air. Your mouth stays slightly open as if to say something it once said but now will never say again. The thought of it dies in your mind and behind your eyes where it once lived no longer can it be seen because your eyes have glazed over with dead pain. Those three precious words that meant so much to you and I no longer have meaning. They were weapons of deception but sweet deception to the bitter end. I would have loved you through anything and beyond any limit that you could have imagined but now that knife has killed you and you can never come back.
-Armando Torres