Charlie ramblings, take 1.

These are just a few bits and pieces written from the POV of my character Charlie. The format may be a little messy, as I'm mainly posting these for my own benefit.

This post is just a couple of journal entries.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

February 12th, 1967

This book was very blank.
This page was very white.
My head was very empty,
but I felt the need to write.

This forcing rhyme does little
to reveal my inner mind,
but I'd rather play at make believe
than face the truth I'm bound to find.

No more of this. My thoughts die.
Memories crumble into humble pie.

Check once, check twice, then a third time --
no pulse, no breath -- damn, that kid could rhyme.

R.I.P. Charles Raymond Clark,
of the Robert Clarks, in the year
of nineteen hundred and sixty seven.

He was only sixteen, the poor
son of a bitch. Didn't even say
goodbye. Damn it. Sometimes
when the world is miserable
they stop and say:

"Boy, this is some awful bad Charlie day."

Too bad I'm still alive.
Nobody has yet to call bad days after me.
Only blame me for them.

This book is no longer blank,
This page no longer white.
My head is still quite empty,
But I can no longer write.

- Charlie

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

I like the grass when it's wet from rain and has no secrets. It lets me feel what it has to say... drink its blood deep into my clothes and chill to the bone. My hair damp from something, from heaven tears, from rainbow-makers and noisy pitter-patter sunshine death.

Yesterday it rained. Today, sun. It burns.

- Charlie