chopprkate's profile

Did you ever feel like you were waiting? Waiting for something to come along that would propel you into your true destiny? Jane felt that way for as long as she could remember. Her life was ordinary and predictable.Each day as the one before, the same as the next. She glanced at the seriously numbered, extremely large industrial clock placed high for all to see. Her shift nearly done and she surveyed her work. It had been a good night and the boss would be pleased. The carts on her line were...

How long had the old shovel sat quiet under that tarp two years, maybe three ? he did his best to deny it ... like the void where his heart used to be. every night, pouring it full of beer chasing her memories with whiskey. One morning he woke, hung over , flat ass broke. Looking up from the bottom, and out through the bars. His eyes more clear , clouds parted, he saw the stars he had missed all those wasted nights. The climb wasn't easy , slipping now and again. the tremor not quite gone fro...

the other night I dreamt I died and set upon one final ride down a dark and fearful road. The pull of unseen hands, as I rolled past the unfamiliar lands tore at me like a cold harvest wind. my gaze held fast to the distant light that never passed , always remaining afar. until a great desert rose before me illuminated, the sandscape white , bathed in soft light by a brilliant diamond star. There the road forked, which way to go? one lane was red, the other black behind me was nothing, there...

Flesh, blood and bone, steel, leather and chrome, grating, grinding, breaking... He'd never forget that sound or the turn his life was taking on that day "she" saved his life. Catching him, like a highway angel made of steel, shiny side down, where no biker should ever be the man and machine, sliding, 60 feet across the slab, a bad dream, So surreal, until agony screams through the adrenalin rush and white hot pain is all you feel. Thoughts pop and flash, like sunlight flickering through leav...

The wind recalls the ghostly sound of old train whistles in our hometown. They ripped the steel rails from the ground, all in the name of progress. Severed like an artery to a limb a small town's blood trickles invisible and crimson, down the leaf clogged gutters. Silent echoes the soles of all those booted feet witnessed by the buildings along the old main street. Shuttered, boarded blind, these icons of another time. I hear their voices speak to me like rusted nails and old brick tumbling M...