A poem about sexual abuse.
Please leave your comments below
A poem about sexual abuse.
Please leave your comments below
A poem written by Christian Tanner
Comment your thoughts and let me know if you like this poem.
A short story written by Christian Tanner
This bar smells like a Dallas Cowboys player’s taint after a home game. The smoke clogged air isn’t easy to breath for a non-smoke but I could use a little second hand smoke after the deal I just made.
A couple hours ago I secured $50,000 dollars for a film I’m working on (haven’t started yet, but I’m working on it). I’m here to celebrate. Shots for everybody! It’s on me!
The thing is, I just secured $50,000 dollars, making $300,000 all together, but I’m still not happy. I doubt making the film will make me happy at this point. Working with shitty actors, shitty directors, and I’m a shitty writer. Fuck. It. All. I doubt that I even have all of the $300,000 because I started dipping into the cash in September and Christmas is right around the corner and my kids are expecting a big Christmas. Fuck, I forgot, I also have BILLS TO PAY. Fuck. It. All.
I just checked the bank account on my phone and I’m down to $234,422. Either I get another investor or I blow my brains out. Which is it going to be, Todd? Blow your head off or find another investor?
Might as well have some fun.
The casino is only an hour away. Go have some fun, the voice in my head tells me.
“Hey, want another one?” The bartender asks me.
I’m stuck staring at his huge hipster beard and making a dumb face in the process.
“What do you want, man?”
“Fuck, I’ll take a- whiskey. The most expensive whiskey you have.”
I figure I’m good for it. I’ll be rich once this film is made.
I took the shot. What am I paying for here? Two tablespoon of whiskey and they all taste the fucking same. Ugh. Whatever, it’s not my money.
Or is it?
Maybe I need to be a little more responsible with the money. But what good is it if I can’t have a little fun with it?
“James,” I said when he picked up his phone.
“The fuck’s up?”
“I’m about to hit the casino with a wad of cash. That’s what the fuck is up. You down?”
“Uhh- I have two kids, Todd.”
“Yeah, I know. Me too.” I told him.
“Yeah, I have two kids, so of course I’m down.”
“Fuck yeah, boy, I’ll swing by in about ten minutes and we’ll hit the road.”
I asked the bartender for another shot. “The cheapest one you have and my tab.”
Holy fucking Jesus Christ that tastes awful.
“S’go, s’go, s’go.”
James hops into my blue Hyundai and I grab his face and make it all deformed. Kind of like what your grandma used to do to you as a child.
“Are you ready to hit the fucking road?” I said aggressively.
“Let’s blow it!”
“Check this shit out.” And I hand him the check for $50,000.
“What?! You fucking did it, man!”
“I know! And tonight we are celebrating our asses off.”
“You’re not spending this cash, are you?”
“I’m not a fool, you fucking idiot.” I said while I rubbed his hair like you would a dog after a bath.
We hit the road.
Slots, slots, slots. Poker. Blackjack. Slots, slots, slots.
Damn it feels good to be up.
The casino is movie theme. There’s a Godfather hall. A Pulp Fiction hall where every white guy is dressed like Vincent Vega and every black guy is dressed like Jules. All the women, black, white, Asian, fucking blue, they’re all dressed like Mia Wallace.
Why they can’t change it up and do Honey Bunny is beyond me. But whatever.
There’s a Shawshank hall, too.
We’re spending our time in the Pulp hall, though.
Slots, Slots, Slots.
And before I knew it, I was down $10,000.
Mania does wonders to the brain. Bad decisions at its finest. You can’t beat highs like these. No amount of anything can get you high like mania while at a casino smoking cigarettes and watching the jackpot on all the machines scroll higher and higher.
I found James and told him, “We should get a room.”
James agreed, as it’s already midnight.
James looks dumbfounded, “A suite? Todd… Are you spending the movie money?”
“Ok, fine. I’m spending a little bit of it but it’s ok because I have plenty of money and I wasn’t even planning on spending the whole thing on the movie.”
“If you say so. Let’s spend it.”
A feeling of regret filled my stomach full. The nervous in my gut are pulsing like a heartbeat. I’m down five thousand and then ten thousand and fifteen then twenty. Who the hell cares at this point? It’s pretty much useless money now. I can’t do anything with it so I’m getting the suite.
The suite I got was on the top floor. There are only two suites on the top floor and they take up the entire floor. It’s incredibly big. Huge. It’s fucking huge.
There are three rooms in the suite, but it’s too big for only me and James.
I ask him, “What do you say we throw a party?”
“Come on now,” James said, “We have to get back early tomorrow.”
“So what. We have a fucking suite.”
“I’m not taking part in it. You can throw a party, but I’m staying out of it.”
“That’s all you had to say. I bet you’ll be partying hard in about 45 minutes.”
“Doubt it.” He said.
He had no idea he would be snorting cocaine off a stripper’s ass.
The night got deep. It was around 2 a.m. and everyone is wide awake, probably from thecocaine and methamphetamine. These people were drug pros.
Don’t eat the Jello.
I stopped partying for a second to people watch for a moment. I just wanted to see everything from my cocaine driven booze filled mind. The people chattering. The naked women. The neon green lights. And the pink ones, too. There’s a table with pills all over it. People are shooting fireworks off the balcony. Bottle rockets and roman candles. I could hear the whistling of the fireworks through the balcony’s glass door. Tweekers were staring out of the peep hole on the door while hitting the light bulb they turned into a meth pipe. And then all of the sudden, I got the bright idea to get on the roof.
Almost everyone from the party got on the roof with me and I would say there has to be at least 100 people up here. Staring at the bottom of the hotel makes me grind my teeth and open my wide wide. I’m sure it has something to do with the cocaine, as well. Panic broke out behind me.
There’s a huge fire on the roof of the hotel. Did I start that? How is it so big? I’m too drunk and high to even know that it’s really happening. Or I just don’t want it to be true. The wind is making it bigger. Three guys are taking their shirts off and waving at it, trying to put it out, but it rages on. Girls are screaming and running into the hotel. The fire grew so big that you could see it from the bottom of the hotel. As I looked down, I considered jumping off. I figured, it beats going to jail.
I hear people chattering that the police are in the hotel room, arresting people left and right so I panic. They have my name downstairs, they’re probably looking for me. I’m going to get blamed for everything. The fireworks. The drugs. The fire. And I’m going to have to pay for everything. I gotta get the fuck out of here.
This is exactly how I wanted to spend the night. And just like that, the money was all gone.
(A short story written by Christian Tanner.)
If Ben and April Wild were around in the 1940’s, Hitler would have killed himself a lot earlier than
April 30th, 1945.
Ben and April were the murder’s murderer. If a trial’s evidence was powerful, but politics got in the way of an accurate judicial decision, well then, welcome to the court of Ben and April Wild. Maximum punishment – suicide.
The Baby Killer
In early 2011, a woman was found not guilty of murdering her daughter whose mouth was found taped shut along with a lethal dose of morphine in her system. She was found behind her very own home, but her mother, Shawn, addicted to morphine and obviously guilty in Ben and April’s eyes, was found innocent. The anger coursed through the veins of Ben and April, where the killer’s killer began. However, Ben and April never killed anyone. Think of them as a morally acceptable version of Charles Manson.
“She has to die.” Ben told April. “She got away with murder!”
“We will finish it, Ben. We have the perfect plan.”
“You’re so sexy when you talk about killing.” Ben told April.
April’s voice cracked, “Ben,” she said, “It’s not killing, it’s suicide.”
“I know, I know. You’re just cute.”
Ben and April were preeminent lovers of black clothing and accessories. April had a lot of soft features while Ben stood out with his bald head. April’s lips were as spongy as a pillow and her clothes and makeup brought of the intricate color of her eyes. Ben’s rough clothes, on the other hand, made him look somewhat like a biker without a bike. All he needed was a black vest covered in patches with a Harley Davidson V-rod Muscle sending 122 horsepower and 86 lb-ft torque coursing through his bones. Ben was a biker without a bike. How he longed for it, though.
April and Ben’s journey through central United States to the outback of Corpus Cristi, Texas was much like the Titan rollercoaster at Six Flags. The thought of killing Shawn shot out at 70 mph and sent them on twists and turns to come up with a plan, however, on the way to Corpus, they hit their peak. During the quick ride on the Titan, half way through you’ll find that the rollercoaster whips you to a peak in the air, and then you fall backwards and go through the waves and spins of the rollercoaster backwards. It’s as intense as murder.
Even though they had hours upon hours to turn around and allow Shawn to have her freedom, they couldn’t do it. Ben and April had made up their minds that Shawn could no longer live after killing her child. The last they heard of Shawn’s whereabouts was on the beach in Corpus Cristi. She was sunbathing. You know, the first thing you would do after being found innocent of killing your only child.
Torture doesn’t always come in the form of pain.
Ben and April arrived, but before they chose a hotel to say in, they decided to scour the beach while the waves crashed at their feet and sand washed over their toes like soap suds at the bottom of your shower. This seemed to be their opportunity thanks to a photographer who took her picture the day before. In the picture, Shawn hid behind large pink sunglasses and she also colored her hair from brown to blonde.
Ben and April paced the beach three times before giving up and trying again tomorrow. Their faces were picture-perfect description for defeat. They both hung their head and mere disappointment was taking over. Depression was about to sink in. Just before they saw her.
“Look, Look.” April tapped on Ben’s arm.
“Wow, it’s her!” Ben said ecstatically as if it were a long lost famous family member they hadn’t seen in years and years.
“What do we do?”
“We watch.” April said. “We watch and we watch.”
“What are we watching for?” Ben asked.
April said in her creepiest voice, “Let’s just let the tension build.”
And the game had begun.
The next day, they woke at 6 a.m. to get a good spot on the beach and watch everyone roll in. The sunrise over the ocean was beautiful and the dolphins danced through the water while Ben and April saw one couple, and then a couple friends. Another couple and then a family. After an hour, the beach was almost full.
The night before, Ben and April followed Shawn to her hotel and then to her room. They acted like a drunk couple, screaming and hollering so they wouldn’t be suspected of anything. Shawn entered her room, room 216, and April and Ben ended their drunken act after obtaining exactly what they wanted.
After two hours on the beach, April and Ben were getting hungry, but their nerves told them they weren’t hungry just yet. That was the moment they saw her prancing down to the beach for her third day. She was just living it up. That bitch, Ben thought.
April said, “Ok, let go to the end of the beach and put on the masks.”
Ben agreed without hesitation and with excitement.
When they reached the edge of the beach where no one was watching them, so they thought, Ben and April put on masks with clown like features and crazy dishwater blonde hair sticking out of the top and the sides of the masks. They slowly walked the beach with their heads down just before they stood in front of Shawn, but keeping a safe distance away. The kind of distance where Shawn wouldn’t ask them any questions. They would prefer her to keep her questions to herself.
Shawn leaned up for a moment to apply more tanning lotion, but she was disturbed when she saw Ben and April, but having no idea who they really were. With the stress of trial and the haunting thought of her dead baby, she grew intensively nervous. So nervous she packed her bags and left.
The glamorous part was Ben and April took off their masks and threw them in the water where they would float to some kids playing in the water. Ben and April had no more use for the masks. After doing so, Ben and April went for a quick run around the side of the hotel that stood right next to the beach. They ran up the stairs to the second floor and waited around the corner, peaking down the hallway every couple seconds waiting for Shawn to exit the elevator. When she did, Ben and April acted like the drunk couple again, but sober today.
“Hey,” Ben said.
“Hi.” Said Shawn.
“You’re the girl from last night. I’m sorry if we made a fool of ourselves,” Ben raised his eyebrows, “we we’re pretty drunk last night.”
“It’s ok, I thought you guys were pretty funny.”
“Thanks, we talked about it all this morning. How we acted like teenagers and stuff.”
“It’s ok, really.”
“Well, good. Thanks.” April said.
And Shawn kept walking towards her room while Ben and April walked towards the elevator.
“Oh shit I forgot my wallet.” Ben said.
“Well grab it really quick.”
Ben pretended to walk back to the room while Shawn was opening her door. And in went Ben and April.
The door banged shut, sending a piercing echo through the hallway.
Ben grabbed Shawn and threw her down on the bed.
“Don’t fucking move!” he yelled.
And she didn’t. She was terrified!
April smacked her across her face and jump up and down like a kid in a grocery store begging for her favorite cereal, “You crazy bitch.” April yelled.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Shawn asked. “What are you going to do to me?”
“You whore-whore-whore.” She said with three jumps. “You know what you did you goddamn murderer.”
“No! I didn’t do—“
And in her mouth went a sock and it was taped over.
“Don’t move.” Said Ben as he filled a rag full of chloroform and knocked out Shawn.
She woke to being tied to the bed with right arm duct taped to the bed side table and feeling like ants were crawling under her skin.
“When you have that much morphine in your system,” said April, “It will feel like you’re on fire.”
Shawn twisted and tried to turn, but there was no give. They had her tightly tied. She yelled through the wet sock, but she couldn’t yell loud enough.
“Here,” Ben said, “This is morphine.” (Enough to make Shawn overdose.)
“More morphine should do the trick.” April hinted.
And Ben sat the syringe in Shawn’s hand.
Ben and April began to recite a deadly poem.
“We are the murder’s murder.” Ben began.
April followed, “We are the ones who come as the torturer.”
Ben continued, “We live for those who died,”
“And we do it aside,” April recited.
“Each other until the day we die.”
“Your punishment served no justice,”
“It came bloodless,” Ben said.
“But here we come,”
“The murder’s murder,”
“And your punishment,”
The said together, “Is suicide.”
The Killer Cop
Ben and April stood in front of the Killer Cop who was just found innocent of murdering a young black teenager named Tim who allegedly ran towards the officer. Why cops are trained to kill instead of use pepper spray was beyond April and Ben.
The Killer Cop, Sal, shot and killed a black teenager for running towards the officer after he had just rob a convenience store. He was unarmed and showed no sign of having a weapon, yet Sal shot and killed him anyway.
Sal awoke in a basement of some kind.
The killer cop asked, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You’re a murderer.” April’s sweet voice answered as she appeared from the shadows.
“Well hello beautiful.” Said Sal.
A faint laugh came from behind April. It was Ben.
Sal had 75 pounds of chain laid around him that locked him in the chair he was sitting on.
“If you admit to the crime, we might let you go and you can have another opportunity to kill someone else. So admit it.”
“I didn’t murder anyone didn’t you see the trial I am innocent.”
April let out a subtle cute, “Ohhh,” and then she looked at Ben. Ben held a tape recorder, hoping to get a confession so once they killed him, the cops might not look as intently as they would if an innocent person had died. Either way, it was unlikely, but it was worth the shot.
“Now you’re a liar, too.” Said Ben.
“I didn’t do it!”
“You’re going to die.”
There’s no such thing as inhumanity.
“Please, let me go.” The Killer Cop cried.
“I bet Tim would have said the same thing, wouldn’t he?”
“I’m sorry for what I did. I was scared.”
“Admit that you murdered him.” Ben demanded.
“Yes, I killed him, but it was out of self-defense, guys.”
“You murdered him because he was black.” Said April.
“Believe me, I didn’t do it like that.”
“Ben, shall we begin?” April asked.
“Not yet.” Ben demanded.
April got a bit upset.
“You’re always acting like you’re the only one in charge.” April stated.
Ben defended himself by saying, “No I don’t.”
“Yes you do. Just like the other times. You were the only one who got to start the poem.”
“April, what the hell? If you wanted to start you could have just said so.”
“I don’t care. I’m just tired of you acting like this. Let’s do it now.”
“We have to get him to confess first.” Ben explain.
“No we don’t.” April replied. “No one is going to come after us for this bastard.”
Ben fired back, “You don’t ever expect what people won’t do, you always expect everything they would do,”
“You act like you’re so fucking smart.”
Ben pulled out his gun and said, “What the hell did you just say to me?”
April pulled out her gun and pointed it at Ben, “I said you act like you’re so fucking smart.”
Ben pointed his gun at April. Their guns were staring into each other’s barrels.
“Pull the trigger, dare you.” Said Ben.
April replied, “You won’t do shit.”
The both stared into each other’s eyes.
Ben broke down and lowered his gun.
“Let’s get this over with. You’re right. You take the lead.”
“I’m sorry, Ben.”
April lowered her gun and walked towards Ben and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “Let’s kill this bastard.”
“Let’s do it.”
“I love you.” Said April.
“I love you, too. You’re my sweet little psychopathic lover.”
April showed a wide smile with all her teeth showing and a short but meaningful, playful laugh.
The killer cop cried for his life throughout the poem.
And they recite the poem.
April led this time.
“We are the murder’s murder.”
Ben followed, “We are the ones who come as the torturer.”
April continued, “We live for those who died,”
“And we do it aside,” Ben recited.
“Each other until the day we die.”
“Your punishment served no justice,”
“It came bloodless,”
“But here we come,”
“The murder’s murder,”
“And your punishment,”
April and Ben looked at each other, and then nodded.
Ben fired one bullet into the killer cop while April unloaded the entire clip.
Depression is tough and 80% of the population who suffer from depression go untreated, or undiagnosed. The goal here is to help people who may not go see doctors, check themselves into inpatient programs for suicidal idealization or homicidal idealization, or out patient programs for depression and/or bi-polar disorder. These are serious mental illnesses where treatment begins with acceptance and then a list of Life Principles, as I like to call them. Even if you do not suffer from a mental illness, these are still good boundaries to set for yourself. (If you have ANY questions about these, please leave questions in the comments and I will help explain them.)
1.) Put yourself first.
2.) Go against the intensity of any emotion you may feel.
4.) Establish a United Front with your significant other.
5.) Do not take on everyone’s problems.
6.) Take medication as prescribed.
8.) Eat three meals a day.
9.) Do not lay in bed all day. (Do not isolate.)
10.) Find structure.
11.) No suicidal thoughts.
12.) Bring out the kid in yourself.
13.) Establish a set of coping skills.
14.) Set/write down goals. (Short term, long term.)
Again, if you have any questions about these Life Principles, or you have something to add, leave it below in the comments section.
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I don’t like how my mind keeps me awake at night.
To this poisonous feeling I feel, I wish I knew what you are telling me, or I just want you to pack your bags and go away.
I don’t like how you keep me awake at night.
The bottomless pit I feel in my stomach sinks too low.
If there’s a place lower than hell, I’m there.
I’m more afraid of emotional harm than I am physical pain.
But the people I love, the poetry i write,
They help sooth my pain away.
My nerves around my stomach shock my appetite away.
Just at certain uncontrollable thoughts about my past.
I tell myself,
My feelings are behind it.
How is it that i know my past, but it feels so uncertain, while my future is uncertain but I feel like I know what’s going to happen?
It’s time to change.
What’s the quickest way into the unknown?
It’s through the door you’ve never walked through because you’re too afraid to go alone.
I keep telling myself,
it has to go away before I do.
Put on your shoes, tie your laces, and go for a walk.
You have to shake the shock.
Put in your headphones, stare at the sky and know there is a God.
He’s watching over you and he’s going to take away your pain.
Keep crying, keep crying, and let it all out,
It’s just not your pain anymore.
A short story written by Christian Tanner
The Gas Station
The Bank Robbery
Xander’s Biggest Challenge
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Written by Christian Tanner
There’s no sound like the cries of a girl you love who has been stuck in the house for over a week. This wasn’t one of those, “Oh she’s grounded and she can’t leave the house,” type of scenes. She had no bed to sleep on, nothing to eat or drink, nothing, all because she sinned against God’s will, says her sicko father.
Kelly’s punishment was 10 days confined to their dusty basement with nothing but the walls to cry to, old molded bread to eat and lukewarm water to drink that had been sitting out since the last time she was imprisoned. The only light peered through the small basement window that hadn’t been opened in decades. The shots of low glimmering light only lit up a small section of the basement while the rest remained dark as when you close your eyes. The house was old as a molded penny and the smell was a constant reminder of age. Kelly knew she was in trouble, and she knew there was no hope for an escape. On the other hand, Kelly didn’t think her punishment fit the crime. She thought that just because she didn’t move her hips while her father released his demons, that didn’t call for the basement. Because of that, her longing for escape grew louder with each passing hour. Even if she found a way out, Kelly’s dad told her that God would make sure she found her way back to the basement. God never lets sin go unnoticed or unpunished, says her father. Only sin was created equal, not God’s children, just what his children do.
Every creek that echoed was a sign of hope that her father might let her out, or give her food, but over time, Kelly lost hope in everything. The sun and the moon were the only way to have any sense of time while their light dragged across the floor, until everything went dark. Her father made a game out of her misery, and the only thing Kelly had to play with were her tears while loneliness sung her basement anthem. Silence isn’t always golden.
A Short Story Written By Christian Tanner
Amy walked out of the movie theater when she first saw Fredrick. He was with another woman named Karen and Amy was on a date with another man named Aaron. The day’s forecast didn’t look good. It was pouring rain when Aaron and Amy walked out of the theater and Amy didn’t have a jacket. Fredrick, the apple of Amy’s eye, he was hovering over his then-girlfriend with his jacket to keep her dry while they both rushed into the theater to see a movie.
Amy could hear her cry, “Oh my god. Can you keep it over my hair? I mean, seriously, it took me almost an hour.” The door closed behind them and Amy watched Fredrick shake off his jacket and apologize to Karen.
At that time, it didn’t bother Amy much because she didn’t know him. However, she thought Karen sounded somewhat bitchy. Anyway, Aaron wore a light windbreaker, but all he did was zip it up, throw on his hood, and then he told Amy, “Let’s get a move on.” They had to run from the theater to the car in the downpour. It was cold.
Three days later, Amy was getting some gas outside of the town she lived in called New Woodlawn. While she was inside the gas station, she searched through candy bars, roaming for the perfect snack, but her eyes landed on Fredrick when he walked through the door to tell the only employee on duty, “Can you fix pump 8? It’s not working.”
Amy’s heart sunk into her stomach and her cheeks burned hot with anxiety while she watched him wait for the attendant to hurry his situation. Amy brushed her brown hair behind her ear and glasses, and then she told him, “That’s a nice jacket.”
She rather hid behind the isle so it took Fredrick a moment to realize the direction of which Amy’s compliment was coming from, but his brown eyes inevitably landed on her.
Fredrick thanked Amy and informed her, “It was a gift from my girlfriend.”
A loud click came from the bathroom and the door swung open. His girlfriend, Karen, she came storming out and she stomped her way to Fredrick’s side, demanding answers to their situation.
A dark poem.