Mr. X’s Poetry: In, In –

Mr. X’s Poetry: In, In –

The sound and fury’s winds, repeats, and balks,

Waxing walls around itself to

Prevent the entry – fresh and faithly might.

Cold and frosty winds do slow walks

Across the moat to seize his mind; accrue

Worry while the doors go lightly.

Inside again at last, on walls, with talks –

Lowly whispers, frigid, cold – cue

The snowy goblins, icy dragons white.

Ventures in here: monsters gawking

At entry – King returned – of his. He threw

Snarling saws to kill the nighted.

Tomorrow, days will die and he, like stalks,

Fated falls, yet on he truly

Did know his death would come uncold in sight.

Feet still moved on forthly squawking

A death upon his name, unsweet and new.

Crowned he used to be – unknightly.

An honor – battle ‘gainst himself to mock

Death so easy, buzzed to curfew

And ring it did ‘til morn saw end the fight.


Now, I can’t remember what rhyme scheme I’m getting this from, but the metric scheme – switching from iambic pentameter to trochaic tetrameter –  I made is my idea for sure (though I definitely varied it,  as can be seen). I don’t know why, but I felt like the “in and out”-like motion of the meter created the loopy feeling of a dream, which is basically what this poem is.

The King is, obviously, the man himself and the castle is his mind.

The monster aka “the nighted” are the demons he has in his mind.

He’s fighting through cold because he’s dying – he’s nearing the end. To that end, the man is fighting through it all til morn, refusing to give up and behaving honorably whilst mocking death as well.

As far as literary techniques, we have allusion, onomatopoeia, some imagery, and a double entendre thrown in there.

Allusion: Obviously, as can be seen from the title, this is an allusion to the famous Robert Frost poem “Out, Out – “ and it can be seen in the following lines:

He threw

Snarling saws to kill the nighted.

However, there is also an allusion to the great Bard himself in the very first line:

The sound and fury’s winds,

As Frost’s poem was based on Macbeth’s lines, “Out, out, brief candle…”

Onomatopoeia: I use this technique in the following lines:

 Snarling saws to kill the nighted.

My reasoning for this was simple: I wanted it to be an aggressive tone, and it worked well as I could, erhm, “borrow” a line from Frost’s poem to have it double as an allusion.

Imagery: Cold and frosty winds do slow walks/ Lowly whispers, frigid, cold – cue; to name a few lines.

Double entendre: I messed around a little with the definition of curfew. I use it to mean an ending, but I learned that it also doubles as a meaning for a signal that signifies curfew, so I carried the meaning forward, using it to mean it as a closing factor and as a ringing for a new beginning.

I hoped you liked the poem and my short analysis of it! If you liked the poem, please download my free poetry book Flames from the Black right here: flames-from-the-black

It is in PDF format, the whole book, right up there. Literally just click on it, read it, and lemme know what you think. Cool, right? Plus, the added bonus of having nothing to lose. Anyway, if you’re not convinced yet, stay tuned to the next few poems I have in store because they’re gonna to be awesome! Until then.



A Mind Like No Other

A Mind Like No Other



As a young boy, he lost his mother to a gun. He sat before her dead body and carried her from the house in his small arms, wearing her silver necklace. As a result, he has grown cold and bitter, stronger and weak.


His landlady’s dead and he saw it all happen right before his eyes – without even being there. Young P.I. Hannibal Musa, a telekinetic survivor of darkness, has to solve her murder. His investigation will take him through the rough and twisted streets of Oasleham City. From decadent, burned churches to crime-ridden neighborhoods, he and his partner will come face-to-face with metaphysical enemies and adverse “allies.”

Chapter 2: The Unsoothing Soothsayer

Hannibal rose to his feet, his face red with frustration. While his body wasn’t wasn’t bruised, his ego had been pricked severely. Sighing, Hannibal opted not to chase the rabbit-masked man who would be long gone by the time he collected himself and instead, turned back toward the apartment complex.

Hannibal reentered the apartment, noting a commotion of voices forming in the upper floors.

Damn it… they’re gonna call the police… but I need to know… what clues did this guy leave behind?”

Hannibal quickly ventured into the room where Ms. Johnson laid dead. His jaw tightened as he knelt down, the odor of death savagely invading his sense of smell. He ignored both the smell and the memories of the landlady inviting a lonely boy in her apartment for cookies and milk.

I’m sorry…” whispered Hannibal.

Hannibal looked at her neck and noted that the necklace, an heirloom from her great-grandmother that she always wore, was missing and there were small scratches around her jugular.

He yanked it off after he killed her…” concluded Hannibal. “That must’ve been all he was able to get before I came rushing in… if I only I were faster…”

Hannibal sighed, shaking his head slightly.

No point in self-regret… won’t change a thing… What else? What else is there to see?”

Near the body, Hannibal saw a bullet shell on the ground. He reached to pick it up before stopping and remaining motionless in the air. His lip pursed and he retracted his hand, resting his arm on his knee.

Don’t mess with the evidence… Police will end up suspecting me if I do that. Just observe. Just… observe.”

He bent down until his eye was an inch away from it. His eyeball shifted up and down as he scanned the small object to the best of his abilities.

A .357 Magnum?” Hannibal rose up and turned around, looking at the gun wound on his landlady’s forehead. “Hm… seems about right.”

The boy then reached behind his back, pulled out his own Mark XIX IMI Desert Eagle and took out a bullet from the cartridge. He bent down again at the bullet shell casing on the floor and compared the sizes.

Yeah…” said he. “That checks out.”

He placed the bullet back in the gun before placing the gun back behind his back, covered by his coat. After establishing the type of bullet, Hannibal retreated quickly to the doorway, inspecting the door itself. It had boot marks underneath the handle and the side of the doorway, the striker area, had a small hole in it.

Okay, Rabbit-man,” whispered Hannibal, leaning in close. “So you kick in the door, you shoot a lady but the minute you hear footsteps, you bolt… why?”


Damn it… the cops.” Hannibal sighed, frustrated and disappointed.

Hannibal instantly assumed a kneeling position beside the woman’s body, setting her head on his lap. He waited until the thumping and stomping of footsteps reached the doorway before activating his crocodile tears. When two policemen entered, shining the light on his face, they instantly softened their stoic faces.

Please… help me!” cried Hannibal, streams of tears and sobs shining from his face. “Help!”

Hannibal stood outside with the rest of the neighbors beyond the police lines, the red and blue lights flashing in front of his face. The afternoon Sun tried to flicker through the thick clouds, leaving spotted speckles of sunlight scattered on the soggy sidewalks.

Oh, my God… I can’t believe this happened…”


Hannibal listened to his neighbors murmur their concern and shock over the events that happened while he watched the certified detectives talk on the steps of the complex. His eyes met one of the detectives, the contacts on his eyes giving the detective pause.

I wanna talk to that young man over there,” said the detective, a middle-aged balding white man.

Yes, sir,” replied his subordinate.

Hannibal was led under the police tape by an officer and taken before the stern-looking detective.

Hello… Hannibal, is it?” asked the detective indifferently.

Yeah,” Hannibal replied with the same tone, smirking at the visible twitch of indignation from his eyebrow, “that’s me.”

The detective cleared his throat. “My name is Charles Conley. Why don’t you tell me about how you found Liliana? Did you see anyone suspicious flee the scene or anything like that?”

I found her dead on the floor with a bullet wound to her head. I didn’t see anything other than her corpse.”

The man nodded. “So, can you tell me – how close were you to Liliana? We understand she was your landlady but that you two hung out a lot.”

Yeah, we were pretty tight, I guess. She was kind of like an aunt or something.”

I see. Tell me, did she have any enemies? Anybody that intended her harm?”

No, nobody that I could think of. I honestly can’t imagine anyone that would want to hurt her. She was sweet to everyone. Very gentle, nice, and caring.”

Alright, thank you. Uh, just one more question.”


Why the…” The detective waved his fingers in front of his eyes.

Oh…” Hannibal chuckled. “It’s to disguise who I am, detective. I don’t take kindly to people looking into my broken world. That’s all.”

The detective was taken aback by the strange statement and simply nodded before turning away and walking back into the house briskly, eager to put some distance between him and the young man. Hannibal just smirked before turning around and exiting the scene. With his hands resting his coat pocket, the boy lowered his head, letting the tip of his hat shadow his face, and began walking around the town, contemplating the evidence.

So, what do you make of it, young one?” came a croaky voice.

Hannibal quickly looked to his right to see, in an alleyway, peeking behind a dumpster, was a shrouded lady in the darkness with a hood keeping her hair covered. She wielded an eerie smile and hollow gray eyes. The most alarming facial characteristic was that she looked like a loved one Hannibal knew well.

Umi?” he whispered in shock.

The woman just cackled before disappearing like a ghost behind the dumpster.

Wait!” exclaimed Hannibal. He sprinted down the alleyway and around the dumpster to see stairs leading down to a door. His breath heavy, Hannibal cautiously ventured down the stairs and approached the door. He reached for the knob and slowly turned it, the slow creak of the hinges bringing open horrific memories.

Once the door was ajar, he made his way inside and moved around dozens of hanged glittery clothes and featureless, porcelain mannequins.


Startled, Hannibal glanced down at his foot to see a sleek black cat staring up at him with its beady green eyes. They twinkled slightly and with what almost seemed to be a Cheshire smirk, the cat disappeared beyond the suspended clothes.

Breathing to himself, Hannibal allowed a few minutes to calm his nerves before he ventured further, eventually coming upon a doorway with beaded curtains. He walked through it slowly and saw that he was standing in an odd, less dark area, with lights coming from red and yellow lamps on both sides of the room. There was a counter on the other side with all types of items ranging from Ouija boards to tarot cards. In the center of the room was a red hexagonal table with a glass ball sitting on a mount in the center. At the two ends of the table sat two chairs.

May I help you?”

Hannibal spun around and his eyes widened when he saw an Indian girl, only two years younger than him, wearing the exact same clothing he saw the other woman wearing. She had long black hair that was tied into a ponytail and innocent dark brown eyes.

Wha-what?” Hannibal stuttered.

May I help you?” the girl repeated, smiling up at him politely.

Wha… where’s that lady? The lady that ran in here?”

The girl tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. I’m the only one here.”

And who the hell are you?”

The girl grinned a toothy grin. “My name is Yedibi. Pleased to meet you!”

The Prologue & Chapter 1

Amazon | A Mind Like No Other

The New eBook: A Mind Like No Other

The New eBook: A Mind Like No Other

Hello! It’s me and I’d like to share the announcement of my new short story, crime fiction, superpowered fiction story. I wrote it several months ago and published it on Amazon last Sunday. I’d like to share a few chapters to entice interest for anyone willing to read it (it’s free on Kindle Unlimited and a dollar otherwise). I don’t know what else to say, hah, so let’s just get right to it. Without further ado, my newest book! Enjoy!



As a young boy, he lost his mother to a gun. He sat before her dead body and carried her from the house in his small arms, wearing her silver necklace. As a result, he has grown cold and bitter, stronger and weak.


His landlady’s dead and he saw it all happen right before his eyes – without even being there. Young P.I. Hannibal Musa, a telekinetic survivor of darkness, has to solve her murder. His investigation will take him through the rough and twisted streets of Oasleham City. From decadent, burned churches to crime-ridden neighborhoods, he and his partner will come face-to-face with metaphysical enemies and adverse “allies.”


The Moon shone like a symbol of ephemeral light in the shadowy darkness, beaming down its beacon onto a lone house resting in the hilltops. These hilltops had no life growing on their sides. On this dark hill, the grass grew not green but gray. The trees possessed no leaves but rather, as if possessed, the trees stood, dead, with their branches like thin fingers seeking to claim the White Disk for themselves. Beyond these rows of haunted trees rested a house. This house stood awake in the deep hours of the cloudy night.

On the top floor of the house, underneath a twin-sized bed, a boy hid, shivering and sweating profusely from the tip of his brow.

So that’s how you’re gonna do me, huh?!” A voice shouted from downstairs. “You just gonna do me like that?!”

Get out of here!” shouted another voice. “Get out! Get the hell out!”

Tell me! Tell me why you left and took my son with you! TELL ME!”

Oh, dear God… Get out!”

No, don’t run away from me! No Allah to save you now! Scream! Scream! He can’t hear you! Tell me!”


Tell me!”




The boy under the bed curled into a ball, teary and sniffling.

Umi…” he whispered, gripping his legs tightly. The boy struggled to remain quiet, the gunshot sounds echoing in his ear and reverberating through his spine. The boy’s shivering intensified as the sound of creaking and soft footsteps approached his bedroom. The room was pitch-black dark except for the moonlight that palely shone through the window and provided the gravest of light into the deathly room.

The boy stiffened hard when he heard the footsteps stop in front of his door.


The door slowly opened with the barrel of a shotgun peeking through the doorway before the head of the man came through, the top half of his body shrouded in the veil of darkness. Then, like the wildness of a coyote, the man pounced forward, grabbed the boy by his leg, and pulled him out from under the bed.

No! Umi!” The boy clawed at the wooden floor, his fingernails bleeding as he was dragged from the floor.

Shut up, boy! Your mother ain’t here no more!” The man angrily lifted the boy by his collar and threw him to the wall. The boy fell to his knees, coughing from the impact. He slowly raised his head to see the barrel of a gun facing his face. “You and her can both get it…”

Tears began clouding his eyes as he stared down the gun, images and sounds of his mother’s pain continuously flashing through his mind’s eye like a mental slideshow. Veins began popping in the boy’s head and his pupils shrunk dangerously.

What the hell?” The man looked down at his arm, finding it tense and unable to pull the trigger. His arm bent at the elbow, switching the tip of the barrel to the man’s chin instead. “Wait… no!”


The boy watched as the body dropped to the ground with a loud thud, blood pooling beneath it. Numb and still coughing, the young child stood up and grabbed a flashlight before walking out of the room, fingertips bleeding and dripping to the floor like drizzling rain.

He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen where his light shined in the center and revealed his beautiful mother sprawled on the floor, several gaping holes in her chest, stomach, and leg. The boy walked over to the body and collapsed on the floor, his head bowed and his heartstring plucked, emitting a pained melody. His cloudy eyes then saw something through the mist; a sparkle in the darkness. The boy reached out for the glimmer and picked up a necklace, one his mother wore. It was stained with blood. The boy wiped the blood off on his shirt and clasped the necklace behind his neck, tears rolling down his cheeks from the windows of his soul.

Chapter 1: The Rabbit-Faced Ravager

I hate this place…” thought Hannibal Musa, a young caramel-skinned man, walking through the streets of Oasleham City, Oregon, kicking a can as he walked. His hands in his pocket, the boy stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn red. The boy stood under the foggy polluted clouds of his hometown, the sunlight filtered through the black smog.

He was a young man of moderately average height, standing with low black hair, a lean build, and demonic red contacts over his eyes, the sclera a deep black. It also doubled as the main thing that kept passersby from looking him in the eye. Besides the contacts, he also wore a faded black shirt, dark blue jeans, black boots that were untied, a long black leather trench coat – which he kept his hands in its pockets – and a silver necklace hanging from his neck. At the end of the chain was a crescent moon shape with a star resting in the center.

I hate the air, the feeling like you’re suffocating…” the boy’s thoughts continued to crackle, like a fire on wood. “I hate the overzealously religious people, the fact that there’s a nasty hobo on every corner, or that there’s literally a black cloud over this forsaken city…”

The light switched from green to red and, with a huff, the boy proceeded across the street. His eyes circled from the various homeless people lying in the alleyways and boxes, the well-dressed men and women just walking by on their smartphones, and the few cars that drove up and down the street.

Spare some change, sir?” a small old man dressed in rags asked weakly of the passersby. They ignored him or, even worse, treated him with disdain.

Hannibal stopped in front of the man and dropped several dollars into the man’s cup. “Here,” said he. “Get yourself something to eat.”

Oh,” the man breathed out, his cheeks rosy and the stink of alcohol viciously apparent on his breath, “thank you, young man. Yes, yes, absolutely, I will make sure this goes to good use.”

Hannibal could only sigh and shake his head. “Of course you will…” he whispered bitterly, continuing on his way.

What the hell is wrong with the world? Why does it stink so bad?”

No answer rained from the Heavens nor did one grow from the Earth. Silence only accompanied the question and another hard sigh followed it.

This world… is rotten to the core.”

Hannibal eventually stopped in front of a local hat store. The young man walked through the door, smiling politely to strangers as they walked out of the store with bags in hand.

Welcome!” greeted the owner, a bald man with a smile far too wide. “Welcome! Please, take a look through our fine brand here. Or here? Or maybe you’d like something like this?”

While the owner suggested all of those hats, Hannibal’s disguised red eyes rested on a certain hat on the shelf above him. The owner followed his customer’s line of sight and smirked.

Ah, that one?”

Yeah,” replied Hannibal.

The owner reached up and pulled the hat down – a black custom Fedora with the “disk” being narrower and longer at the ends. Hannibal held it, letting the cotton soothe his hands, before lifting it up and letting it settle on his head.

Oh, it looks great!” announced the exuberant owner. “Here, here, see for yourself!”

From the side of the shelf, the man pulled out a hand mirror and gave it to Hannibal. A small smile graced his face as he looked himself over, the hat’s shadow darkening his eyes even further than they already were.

I can’t even lie…” said he, stroking his chin, “I look pretty damn good.”

The owner nodded in agreement. “Yes, you do. That’ll be $29.95.”

Hannibal reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of rolled up bills held together by a skimpy rubber band. The owner watched him pull out a $20 and a $10 dollar bill before handing it to him.

Thank you for doing business with Mr. Shaq’s Hats. Please come again.”

Hannibal tipped his hat to the man, took his nickel in change, and exited the door, feeling rather well about himself.

Alright, now- URGH!”

A vein on the side of the boy’s head pulsed painfully, forcing a collapse to his knees in pain and a grab of his throbbing skull. Everyone around Hannibal continued on their way, walking around the boy like he was a wet floor sign. Hannibal’s mind, however, was numb to the outside world. Deep in his mind’s eye, a scene took place before him…

Stop it!” yelled a female voice. “Get out!”


A hooded shadowy figure stood over the woman’s body, his gun smoking.

Hannibal’s eyes reopened and they were wide as saucers, the experience he just had relatively alien to him. The woman in the vision, however, was not.

Ms. Johnson… no…”

With the speed of a mustang, the young man raced down the street as fast as his long legs would carry him.


The drivers angrily screamed at him as he sprinted and vaulted the hoods of their cars but he paid them no mind, his focus on the danger ahead.

It wasn’t long before he had finally made it and after he pounced up the steps, he proceeded to kick the door in with the might of a Spartan. His nostrils exhumed quick, quiet pants and his body dropped to a crouch as he saw, in the hall, on the first door to the left, the door opened partly with scathed footmarks below the door knob. Hannibal tightened his jaw and clenched his fist before quickly busting into the house and finding a sight that made him gasp in shock.

The woman, Ms. Johnson, laid on the ground with a gaping hole in her forehead. Her eyes were wide open but with soulless pupils, like open curtains to a dead house. Blood was splattered from her forehead and drops scattered around her face. Her arms and legs lay spread out as if she were peacefully laying in the grass.

Hannibal grimaced while looking at the sight, his heart heavy with bitter beats. The smell of death began to poignantly reach up into his nose as his eyes scanned the scene. As he stood there, staring at the body, however, a sudden realization came to mind.

That wound is still fresh… I just saw it somehow… This only happened seconds ago… meaning the killer is still here!”

Hannibal’s head was turned to the sound of a window opening and like a hound on the hunt, he ran to the kitchen where, beyond an open window, he saw the back alley on the side of the building and a hooded man running away from it.

Without hesitation, Hannibal dove through the window and landed on the ground feet-first before taking off after the escaping man. The killer began picking up speed but he wasn’t faster than Hannibal and soon, the young man managed to tackle the figure to the ground. Mounting him, Hannibal reached for the man’s hood when the pinned man, utilizing impressive flexibility, backhanded Hannibal and overpowered him enough to throw him off and onto the ground.

Hannibal’s eyes managed to catch a brief glimpse of a purple rabbit mask under the hood and the tip of a gold necklace sticking out of the man’s pocket. The man, in a sort of fidgety, twitchy motion, turned and ran out of the alley, leaving Hannibal lying in the grime, wondering:

Why didn’t he kill me?”

Liked it? Purchase the entire book (or download) right here.