AN INCOMPLETE COLLECTION OF ORIGINAL POEMS, SONGS, AND SHORT STORIES I WROTE IN MY LATE TEENS TO MID-TWENTIES.

Sweet dreams are made of these

How come we only show the beauty

Just leave me alone

It's better to have no friends

You broke my heart, motherfucker

Don't think you can get out of it

Or would you plead the fifth

The note under the pillow stated, "You're going to die in the near future." It had been pasted together from letters out of a magazine. Max Abbas crumpled the piece of paper into a ball. It must have been a joke from one of his pesky little siblings.

Are you hooked on yourself

Look at me and you will see

Need to sort things out

I haven't seen you in so long

Hey, look in the ditch

A helicopter descended into a field of tall, dead grass that stopped just above a full-grown man's waist. Its silhouette barely seen against the dark sky even with the full moon shining brightly. Five figures emerged from the chopper dressed in military décor. The rest followed as one of them took lead. Another ran ahead.

Then you succumbed to your feelings

If I would tell you I want you

My child is bleeding to death."

But you're not welcome back

I dreamt of you the other night

Flowing in darkness

For something that I thought

But then again, what is your type

I turned you down a couple of times too

Never wanted to be your girlfriend

All my deepest, darkest secrets

All the clowns with painted faces

He only remembered leaving the party and getting into his car. It went black after that. He didn't know what had happened. Max Abbas was now in the middle of a cornfield. His head was throbbing. He raised a hand and touched the back of his head. He felt wetness there and pulled his hand away to discover his fingers full of blood....

I'm sorry it had to come to this

I don't want to be enemies

Forgive me, I don't know why