Shades of Gray: The Blogs of Cory Creen

The Laundromat II

2010-05-12T07:06:00.000-07:00

I sit there watching my clothes mingle with water and detergent inside of the front-loader washing machine. Back and forth the waves swisch and schwasch. In the background, a whirring and moaning sound from the coin-operated clothes dryers takes the predominant presence. There is the occasional siren from a police car or fire truck, but everything returns to a slow moan.

In the Laundromat, the washing machine is tan, the light is florescent, and the floor tiles are a stained white. The light occasionally flickers, making the washing machine appear a gray that is more white than black. The only other light present is the street lamp.

The washing machine changes cycle.

No one comes to the Laundromat this late at night. I hang out here often. The drones, the lights, and the repetitious imperfections make me forget what has happened in my day. This place makes me tired. It reaffirms that I am alive. The discordant music of the machines and the warmth are calming.

The exhaust of the clothes dryer empties outside, but the sweet fumes find their way back into the Laundromat. Fabric softener, Cheer laundry detergent, and Clorox all mix to form a fantastic fragrance. I have been coming to this Laundromat for a year now, so for me, the scent has faded. The floor used to have different degrees of filth, but I cannot see the difference anymore.

The washing machine finishes.

My time here is limited. It is almost over. Eventually, I will have to fold the clothes and leave here. I will leave the droning washers, the monotonous dryers, and the dirty floors, and subject myself to the dynamic world. I will feel dead comparably to my fellow humans. I will contemplate ending it all multiple times and I will visit the Laundromat to feel good, but in the end, I will always come to the end of a cycle.

The Laundromat I

2009-06-07T23:54:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the twenty-four hour laundromat, a man watches his clothes turn endlessly in a clothing dryer. The machine makes a continuous hum and heat radiates to warm the room. The man is alone. It is 1:37 AM.

A buzzer goes off. The man turns around, noticing that one of the street lights keeps flickering off and on—buzzing between changes of state. He turns back around, facing the clothes dryer. The clothes turn endlessly. The machine makes a continuous hum and heat radiates to warm the room. The man is alone. It is 1:43 AM.

Sitting there, the man thinks about what to prepare to eat when he gets home. “Something cheap and easy” he thinks to himself. He then laughs quietly to himself at the sexual pun he made—his eyes squinting and his toungue pressing softly against the innards of his left cheek. He looks down then looks up, facing the clothes dryer. The clothes turn endlessly. The machine makes a continuous hum and heat radiates to warm the room. The man is alone. It is 2:04 AM

The door to the laundromat opens suddenly and a woman walks in. She sees him. She approaches him—asking for some money for the pay telephone down the street. She has a bruise on her left cheek. It is black under the incandescent light. He lends her his cellular telephone instead. She calls someone quietly in the corner. She finishes and thanks him. She then goes outside again—walking to the left and right of the street corner, then crosses the street and is off in the night. He rubs his eyes, looks to the left, then looks to the center, facing the clothes dryer. The clothes turn endlessly. The machine makes a continuous hum and heat radiates to warm the room. The man is alone. It is 2:19 AM.

Bored, the man paces quietly, facing the clothes dryer. The clothes turn endlessly. The machine makes a continuous hum and heat radiates to warm the room. The man is alone. It is 2:23 AM.

Suddenly, time stops. The clothes stop turning endlessly. The machine stops its continuous hum and no heat is radiating to warm the room. An obnoxious buzzer goes off. The man removes his clothes, folding them carefully. He quietly packs up his things and heads for the door. The man is alone. It is 2:37 AM.

Breakdown

2008-12-26T19:37:00.000-08:00

In 50 years,
students and teachers
may read my poem
and over analyze this
line by line.

I don't know
if I will be alive then
to know this but
I have confidence that
all English teachers must do so.

I don't have any control
and I don't know if I should
be honored.
All things written were
meant to be taken apart
and reattached.

Like a curious child
with building blocks,
I write this, and I'm
not willing to share
my creation.

But the kid in the corner
will charge over
as does a learner with their pencil
and knock over my blocks
with determination.

I was a passive child
and I'm a passive person.
Analyze this if you wish.
It's plain, but find out
what you wish.

Random Connections

2008-12-21T00:01:00.000-08:00

I can't see it because it isn't there.
And no one understands.
It is easy to forget it.
You don't miss what you will never have again.

Separated at the
poorly hemmed seams,
life falls apart.
The seamstress is
out to lunch.

Wounds heal themselves.
Stitches are cheating.
Time heals most wounds.
Some are left at the mechanic's shop
in the back of the store
to be repaired later.

Line by line,
I'm confused
With many things going wrong
and nothing left
Could things get worse?
Perhaps--Murphy's law says that all that can go wrong
will go wrong.

I have seen the beginning
and I have control of my end.
The limit
as my end approaches old age
and I can't see or breath or
shit on my own.

I will be alright.

I Said Yes

2008-06-03T19:35:00.000-07:00

Twelve months ago
We stood there at the rubble.
You asked me whether we would be this way.
I said no.
I didn't know.

Eight months ago
You took the kitchen knife from the drawer.
You took your knife to me, but missed.
You left for an hour, and returned crying.
You asked me whether we would be ok.
I said yes.
I didn't know.

Six months ago
We celebrated an anniversary.
You tried to hurt me with the phone
Because you thought a voice on the machine was flirtatious.
You left a piece of the telephone in my head.
You left me there to bleed a little.
You returned crying
and asked me whether we'd be ok.
I said yes.
I didn't know.

Three months ago.
You purchased a metal bat.
I didn't answer a question about how you looked correctly.
You beat me with your metal bat, breaking me down.
I bled inside, and blued outside.
You left me on the ground for an hour,
and upon my return from the hospital,
You asked me whether we would be ok.
I said Ok.
I didn't know.

One month ago
You poisoned me.
I died.
You left for an hour before returning.
You asked me whether we would be ok.
I didn't answer.
You hit me with your bat.
I didn't answer.
I never answered again.

Domestic violence is never alright.
End it before it ends you.

Recycling

2008-05-30T11:08:00.001-07:00

I'm burning out.
I'm blowing up.
I'm breathing in.
I'm falling back.

Take the straw from your eyes
Realize who this is.
Come from behind your glass window.
Save me from this.

I'm looking forward,
but I'm too blind.
I'm hearing opportunity
or I'm too deaf to know.
I'm thinking different
but everyone is as well.

Take the cover from your eyes.
Someone listen to this.
Someone come from behind
and Save me from this.
I can't believe
that I can't do this on my own.
Someone save me.
Save me from this life.

Among the Rubbish

2008-05-29T20:50:00.000-07:00

I can't breathe.
The heat is smothering me.
I can't see.
The sun is blinding me.
I can't be.
The life is hating me.
I can't believe.
The time is wasting me.

Anstatt zu

2008-05-04T17:48:00.000-07:00

Anstatt der Freiheit zu haben,
muß ich leben.
Anstatt zu leben,
muß ich atmen.
Anstatt zu atmen,
muß ich der Freiheit zu haben
um zu leben.
Ich kann nicht leben,
wenn ich die Freiheit nicht haben kann.
Ich hätte geliebt,
würde ich geblieben.
Das Atmen ist geblieben.

Rex (16)

2007-11-21T17:27:00.000-08:00

Today, a theoried special day.
I'm supposed to be 16 today.
I'm too young to vote in polls.
I'm the target of little maggot drools.
I'm too old to drink a bottle.
I'm too young to eat a candle.
I'm too young to fuck an adult.
I'm too old for a childish occult.
I'm too dumb to take the lead.
I'm too smart so I must read.
I'm too stupid for these miserable lines.
I'm too fucked to have some time.
I'm too horny to be right there.
I'm to corny for people to bear.

Just ignore me, I'm just 16.
I'm not there, I'm just 16.
I'm not important, I'm just 16.
I'm not human, I'm just 16.
I'm not straight, I'm just 16.
I'm not white, I'm just 16.
I'm not frustrated, I'm just 16.
I'm not smart, I'm just 16.
I'm not anything but 16.

Fuck being 16!
Fuck Sweet 16!
It's not so fucking sweet when you feel the real world.
Throw away any happiness you have now.
Corrode your pride and bleed out your dignity.
Being 16 sucks major ass.

In The Center/ Ins Zentrum

2007-11-21T17:25:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in the centre of a circle
in the middle of a floor.
Moonlight from my window
beaming around the circumference.
No sound can be heard by anyone
except me.

No one hath heard my screaming
in the centre of the circle.
The spectacle my blood makes
through my crimson veins
with each wave my voice box releases.

Through the breaks of skin
blood outlies along the circumference.
The moon outlines this circle.
I got to cut away from the surface
in the centre of the circle.
But he holds me down
to punish me.

What light break through thy window
Burning a hole through my chest.
I can almost feel my screaming.
The theatre of Imagination
beneathe me.

Ich bin tot,
aber ich wohne hier in Hölle.
Mein Dignität lebt jämmerlich
und meine Seele ist gefoltert mit
die Anwesenheit von dein Image.

C5H14N2 Cadaverine

2007-11-21T17:21:00.000-08:00

Ich sehe den Mann.
Der Mann ist hier.
Er sehe mich.
Er riecht von Diaminopentan
Ich liebe diesen Geruch.
Der Mann muß tot sein.
Ich sehe mit der Totenstarre
den Mann in seine Haut.
Das tut mir leid.
Seine Haut ist interessant Farben.
Die Farben sind sehr romantisch und schön.
Die Haut sind blau, rot, und violett von Totenflecke.
Der Mann liegt ruhig.
Es gibt kein Ton,
und Ich rieche Diaminopentan.
Diaminopentan,
so orgasmisch in seiner Einzigartigkeit,
ist durch der Mainstream nicht gebührend gewürdigt.
Ich sehe einen Mann.
Ein Mann ist hier auf dem Grund.
Hier liegt ein Mann, wen starb.
Auf Wiedersehen.

I see the man.
The man is here.
He sees me.
He smells of Cadaverine.
I love this scent.
The man must be dead.
I see the man with
Rigor mortis in his flesh.
I'm sorry about that.
The skin is blue, red, and violet.
The man lies still.
There is no sound,
and I smell Cadaverine.
Cadaverine,
so orgasmic in its uniqueness,
is not appreciated by the Mainstream.
I see a man.
A man is here on the ground.
Here lies a man whom died.
Goodbye.

Sweet 16

2007-11-18T19:27:00.000-08:00

They say being sixteen brings fun
But I feel my life is more than half done.
Being sixteen makes you feel alive
but these are the days I just want to die.
Being sixteen you can drive a car
but living in a box means you don't get far.
Being sixteen is parties and sex
but with other restrictions I have nothing left.
Being sixteen is an innocent time
But with all I know, I'm in hell to rhyme.

This poetry has become cliche
Being sixteen's out
and we're not ok.
Those of us who are too young
for the adults above
but too old
for the kind below

Our desires and dreams
muted by those of the past
so we fall straight on ourselves
and flat on our ass.

Being sixteen no one hears my roar
It's hidden behind music and slammed doors
When I'm seventeen, Will I be alive.
12 % of us at 16 won't be around another year

Dada 10

2007-11-04T18:51:00.000-08:00

You can't escape.
You won't escape.
You can't escape.
You'll never escape.

Behind these nicotine stained walls
lies the truth.
No one knows about it.
Not even you.

In the dark I like to read your mind,
but I'm frightened of the things I may find.
There must be something you're thinking of
to help you run away.

You'll never get a way.
You're never going to survive.
Stand down and shut up
Voices Carry.

Cryogenic Pride

2007-10-21T09:16:00.000-07:00

I'll take my pride right off the shelf
and slam it through the ground.
I'll take my dignity inside
and like a mutt it go to the pound.

I'll take my melting pot of heart
and cryogenically freeze dry it.
I'll take polychromatic mind
and I'll take some black to dye it.

This is my call.
This is my life.
This is me.

Day of the Week

2007-10-12T21:32:00.000-07:00

Some days I feel alone.
Some days I feel I'm free.
Some days I feel I'm not unknown.
Some days I feel I'm me.

Some days I feel bravado.
Some days I feel I'm square.
Some days I feel I'm all alone.
And I'll be the only one there.

Some days I feel pure hatrid.
Some days I feel unsure.
Some days I feel I'm dead inside.
Some days I feel I'm near.

Some days I feel I'm hated.
Some days I feel I'm bored.
Some days I feel I'm horrible.
Some days I am a whore.

Some days I'm just too critical
I'm wasting all your time.
Some days I feel I'm all alone.
A stitch stuck within time.

BS

2007-07-15T12:52:00.000-07:00

You can take your fake ideology
And cram it in my skull
So you can watch me shit it out
During the end.

You can take your fucked beliefs
And shove them up my ass
So you can watch me stumble
During the end.

You can take a vacuum cleaner
And suck out my life and soul
So you can watch me fade away
All within the end.

You can take a drill and saw
And cut me into bits
So you can watch me bleed and scream
All during the end.

You can take your body and
Rape me fucking hard
So you can watch me cry and die
All within the end.

But in the end, I'll stand among your brain.
I'll fry your head on my pan and
I'll stab your heart all in the end.
'Cause in the end, payback's a bitch.

So keep it up.
Do what you want.
Cause in the end.
I'll have my fun.
Fuck you.

A Passage

2007-07-08T08:24:00.000-07:00

I don't know what I'm writing for.
Why should I write this?
I don't know what this poem is for.
Whom so I won't miss.

I don't know what I'm writing for
With elementary rhyme.
Something you pick up in middle school
Or on the blogs online.

I don't know what I'm writing for.
This poem has no main theme.
I don't know if its worth my time
To even have a dream.

I don't know what I'm writing for.
I guess there is this thought.
Beneath every single word
Lies a poets heart.

I don't know what I'm writing for.
For poetry from me
desecrates the English words
and humanity.

I don't know what I'm writing for.
Putting myself down?
My words are just as good as yours.
Even underground.

I don't know what I'm writing for.
For everyone's unique.
The words that flow throughout my soul
Also have poetic streak.

I think I know what I'm writing for
This poem is my release.
To take me from the real world blues
And save me from the disease.

I think I know what I'm writing for.
I'm saving my own thoughts.
These words were meant to form their bond.
Whether you like it or not.

Society

2007-07-03T02:48:00.000-07:00

Drop outs work in fast food chains.
Minimum wage will still not change.
Republicans playing unfair games.
Democracy is going to hell
and we're not OK.
This world still hasn't changed.

Violence is spread out on the street.
We're in a war with the Middle East.
No reason for it, can't you see?
Nuclear waste land zone.
Sadly broken homes.
This world still hasn't changed.

Families are living in cardboard shacks.
Children are eating people's trash.
Government makes them suffer more.
They'll turn into survivors
and they'll be stronger than before.
This world still hasn't changed.

This world still has long ways to go.
With global warming, poverty, and snow.
The annihilation trend we go.
It's time to make a better place.
Progression is a go.
It's time to make a change.

State of Being

2007-07-03T02:17:00.000-07:00

She is dying.
He's feeling alone.
He is crying
trying to run and hide.
She is ready
for necroptoliptic beginnings.
He is hungry
starving for some truth.

In a state of mental health.

She has died
many year possessed her.
He has tried,
but he can't try anymore.
She is floating
her way to the cemetery.
He can't take
this shit anymore.

In a state of mental health.
In a state of mental health.

A hole be dug.
She's put into the ground.
He's arrested
for some stolen money that he found.
Maggots eating
the way through her cold flesh.
He is screaming
for somebody's help.

In a state of mental health.
In a state of mental health.

She is rotting.
Her soul roam around.
He's rejoicing
and pissing on her grave.
She is haunting.
Pay back be a bitch.
He has now died
because she slit his neck.

In a state of mental health.
In a state of mental health.
In a state of mental health.
In a state of mental health.

Teenager Confession 003

2007-06-28T21:04:00.000-07:00

You taught me how to breathe.
You taught me how to eat.
You taught me how to crawl.
You taught me how to fall.
You taught me how to step.
You taught me how to walk.
I learned it all from you.

You taught me how to talk.
You taught me how to stop.
You taught me how to dress.
You taught me how to bathe.
You taught me how to care.
You taught me how to cry.
I learned it all from you.

You taught me how to hate.
You taught me how to love.
You taught me how to drink
You taught me how to hurt.
You taught me how to cause pain
You taught me how to blame.
I learned it all from you.

You taught me how to abuse.
You taught me how to harm.
You taught me how to abandon.
You taught me how to swarm.
You taught me how to die.
I leanred it all from you.

I learned how to hate myself.
I learned how to cut myself.
I learned how to abuse myself.
I learned how to accuse myself.
I learned how to hit the ground
I learned how to hit bottom.
I learned it all from you.

Thank you for all you taught me.
I learned it all from you

Teenager Confession 002

2007-06-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the depths of my mind.
Welcome to the center of it all.
Welcome to the place in which scholarly thoughts occur.
Welcome to the place in which immense decisions occur.
Welcome to the location of where mood changes occur like scenes in a movie.
Welcome to the place of learned experiences, of memory, and depth perception.
Welcome to the place where everything is different now.

Welcome to the place where now my mood is yellow and bright.
And come with me as we observe it going through various parts of my head.
The yellow is being tainted with colors of green and black
and red.
Welcome to the place where the only trace of yellow
is the desecrated being below us.
Watch my mood as it goes through the muck of brown.
It has entered an area of excuse,
of lies.

Of all the things in life I wanted,
I never wanted this.
I never asked for this.
Welcome to the place of never ending thoughts
and feelings
that there is nothing left in the world
accept for me to watch people die
and for everyone to quit on me.
I never asked for this.
I never asked for this.

I can't have one day
where I can think no darkness.
There will be no day
where I can tell my brain to make me smile.
There will be a cold day in hell
when I will be able to be me again.

I want to thank you for this.
Without you, none of this could have been possible.
Without you, I could have never had the misery I do now.
Without your days of addictions,
Without your days of bitterness,
Without your days of abandonment and torment,
I could never have any of this.
Thank you.

Welcome to the place that you create it.
I like to call it "Me".

Wake up

2007-06-23T20:58:00.000-07:00

Hello, can anyone hear me?
I'm not in hiding anymore.
Haha, I'm not depressed for once
and I feel that I'm getting a chance to breathe.

Hello, can anyone hear me?
I'm not depressed
so I won't be your bore.
Please don't leave me here.

I'm so sorry that I left
you all in mystery
and fear
when I had that drink to my lips.

I'm sorry that I had those days
where I pushed you all away
and Ignored the love you shown
so dearly.

Hello, can anyone hear me?
It's not just another day,
today I feel like I did
when I knew nothing about pain.

I feel exicted again.
I feel like I could breathe again.
Hello, please someone come out.
Olly olly oxen free.

Please, someone.
I'm getting help
someone to predict my storms
and help me prepare for the worst

so that my depression
doesn't last
and I can take my life
back over again.

Hello, can anyone hear me?
Can anyone feel me?
I'm alive again.
People I'm back.

"The number you have dialed
is busy
please hang up
and try your call again."

The Drums Have Died

2007-06-02T22:33:00.000-07:00

Where has all the thunder gone?
The lightning's disappeared.
The roar that goes to complete the storm,
has not been seen or heard.

The rain brings disappointment
cause when I hear drops fall-
My mind is telling me to mourn
for thunder, there's none at all.

For nights like this, I long to hear
the thunder's roaring sound.
To see the flash strike past my window
and to see lightning hit ground.

These drums have died.
The area's clear
The death
consoles the fearing.

But for those who
long to hear the sound
will mourn
it's history.

Little Rotted Remnants

2007-05-28T21:56:00.000-07:00

I'm standing on the edge
of annoying repetition
of subliminal minds
and magic fiction.
I see it in your eyes,
this tragic kingdom.
You're being dumb
aggravating
frustrating
figment of imagination.

I'm standing here
just letting my brain cells rot away.
Wondering how my life today
will effect my future,
my past,
if all appears retarded
like a big kid who just farted
and shat on my dreams.
Pissing me off
whilst wetting the sheets.

This repetition
is wearing me thin.
This monolithic
battery is sin.
I'm aggravated
frustrated,
An irritation nation.

I feel violated
when you tell me these things
because it breaks my heart.
I want it to never begin,
so please just hold it- and
cram it to a mold.
Oh please just hold it,
and just bleed me cold
and dry.

You crammed philosophy
into my veins
with a small needle.
Oh how a shame
it be.

I don't like your pressure
to have sex with you.
It pisses me off
because I'm not ready too.
I want you to walk off
masturbate
just leave me alone to hate.

Der
Tag
Pisst
mich
auf.

Teenager Confession 001

2007-05-28T21:42:00.000-07:00

I am the person with the smile on their face.
I am the person who always offers to make plate loads of food so that you're full and content.
I am the person who is full and can't eat a bite, but wants you to enjoy your food.
I am the person who watches you all enjoying yourself, whilst I'm chuckling.
I am the person who has a few pieces of lettuce and drinks water daily.
I am the person ready to go to the gym and work out with you.
I am the person who will push the furthest in my goal, and I will not stop.
I am the person who will not stop when I sweat.
I am the person who will slowly pack up their bag and walk to the shower.
I am the person who, with every step taken to the shower, looses their smile.
I am the person who enters the shower with a feeling of discontent.
I am the person who feels an argument brewing in their head.
I am the person who slowly drives home and slowly feels sadder with every mile.
I am the person who enters the doorway alone, with no one suspecting a thing.
I am the person who climbs the stairs and grabs the brown extension cord on the floor.
I am the person who turns on the light in the bath room and looks up in the mirror at myself.
I am the person who punches out the mirror and watches the blood poor from their hand.
I am the person who slowly bends over the toilet.
I am the person who bundles the cord and inches it ever so slowly down their throat.
I am the person who thrusts the cord back and forth, feeling all the pain.
I am the person who vomits the remnants of the nothing I've become.
I am the person who feels the pain and burning from the acid eating me inside out.
I am the person who doesn't get up until they feel thin.
I am the person who tells themselves they're a fat fucking pig.
I am the person who will push the furthest in their goal.
I am the person who can not stand him/herself.
I am the person with the most imperfections.
I am the failure.
I am the person who will take that cord one day, after slitting their wrist, and hang.
I am my ending.
I am me.
Someone please help me.