The Ballad of Johnny Handsome

He screamed as the answer to her wishes couldve never been forseen, it was the birth of a dream. Jonathan Clement, the beautiful boy, was his moms shining moment. She wanted to pray but she couldnt think of anything else to say. With her baby in her hand she hovered in dreamland. Home was no paradise, it was as dark as a morbidly outrageous poem, as Johnny’s story was to collapse like rome. But her held her son, as her husband lurked in front of her with a loaded gun. Was he a bum or the shadow of a million suns, what captivated her scream was Johnnys beautiful gleam

They danced to The Clash, the old piggy banks were quickly replaced by a savings account stash. Things had changed, Johnny’s father the horribly deranged had departed and this new ray of hope allowed Johnnys mom to cope. Jim was his name, his face so dim and his clothes were on the administrative brim. The future forcasted acid rain but he kept Johnnys mom sane. Motivation advocated by education, led to a seaside vacation. This was the new sensation, haunted only by Johnnys new uncles indications. Vacation became a hobby, Johnny didnt miss the bland streets. Sand felt great on a eight year olds feet. He was oblivious to this pedophiles lie, he thought he was to old to cry because he didnt want to do it anymore, he wanted to die. Johnny Handsome was his uncles nickname, part of his sick game. As he held Johnny down he wanted to die, it lasted until eleven and he wanted to die. He’d seen the ocean, the Bahamas and cartoons but this pain came to soon.

Rebellion, just as Johnny predicted a riot. The violence was silent, the punishment was to quiet. The hallway had pollution, it was part of the principles solution, chaos was the name of this fuckin institution. There were sustained junkies in the bathroom who just took small 90 proof sips, chapped lips and kids sold tips to keep from taking a police station trip. It was just a teenage population seeking oppressive liberation. Then for Johnny came first love, he hovered like a Peace admiring the sky up above. She was Jan, they strolled through the park just never after dark. As they kissed they held each others hand, then came the pleasure that few felt in these United Lands. Johnny the goon who sank so low, to hurt to recognize a friend or a foe, had brought flour, butter, frosting and dough. Baking the cake would take an hour to finish, but the phone call was just a minute. The cake burned reminiscent to Johnnys fate. He wanted to rally poetry to get her. After a year, he never forgot her. Upset and unclear, Johnny drank ten warm beers. This was the product of his trauma’s fear, and all he owned was a tear

Blood game motherfucker, a young adult alternative that consisted of enforcing on greedy suckers. Johnnys life was a symphony like the laxative’s pergative. It was buy, sell and kill to live, he was twenty and he had no love to give. He did a bid, never had a kid, forgot the one person he loved and protected the dirt that he did. It came naturally, he insisted you had to die a few times to see. If Johnny didnt find the key, he simply would no longer be. Twist to the story, was a rat named Cory. He ducked and showed Johnny he didnt give a fuck. A snitch that he had to scratch like a itch. Brain beaten and in a psychotic state, this odd job could decide his fate. He prayed, but it was obviously twenty years to late.

He arrived at the scene, he tried to figure his life expectancy, but he didnt want to use mode or mean. He insisted on Median. To destroy your heart, soul and every single pole, this pain he carried wasnt his fault. The darkness in the cloud, no matter how loud was not his fault. He made it to the first floor, and he crept to the door. People blessed him with a sense of morality, but Johnny Handsome challanged it would cramp his individuality. But then his body lay lifeless, his head resting next to a puddle of old piss. For years Johnny Handsome held himself ransom, the prize would be new eyes. He had seen to much, lost the sensation of touch. There wasnt much to be said at the funeral, Johnny was finally dead. He was a stain to most, one of life’s banes. They discussed his deeds at the party, but only few understood what was true. Nobody had the right to judge after what he went through

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