# Inside a Mouse's Head: a collection of my thoughts, writings, and poetry



## Lobo1987 (Apr 5, 2008)

I thought I'd go ahead and post a place to put some of my writing work. Some may think it's really unique and marvelous, while others may criticize that I'm too dark and emo with some of my work. Either way, I'll put my thoughts here and allow all of you to do the same.

Unfortunately, my best writing seems to have gone missing, so it may take a while for me to post it up here. Until then, please enjoy one of my more recent works, written over a year ago...

Pieces of a Broken Heart

Upon first seeing her, it was love at first sight
A sort of passion that grew late into the night
The more we would talk, the more I fell
Into a love that I yearned to dwell

I would weep on days she was not around
Felt like I should be buried in the ground
When she would return I smiled with glee
My spirit would feel so joyous and free

The emotions inside became too tight
And I told her that I loved her one memorable night
But instead of hearing an â€˜I love you right backâ€™
She merely said â€˜thank you,â€™ and went to get a snack

I ignored the possible grim truth
To keep my love for her so healthy in youth
For I yearned to hold her so dear
And vanquish any potential fear

One day she said she needed to talk to me
This bit of news hit me rather unexpectedly
I asked her if it would be good or bad
She said it would be fine, no need to be sad

Several days went by and nothing was said
I began to worry with sleepless nights in my bed
She would say â€˜now is not good for meâ€™
And a shadow of doubt I began to see

The night finally came, she seemed full of glee
I cared for her, and she cared for me
But my happiness came to a sudden end
With the lethal heartbreak that she did send

To her, it seemed, that we were not fate
That I have yet to find my respective soulmate
She crushed my heart; a choice quite unwise
For there would be no pain if it had met its demise

The misery that she left me will not soon go away
The memory of her breaking my heart is here to stay
All hope is now gone, there is no self-esteem
For me to find true love, now only a dream


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## TakeWalker (Apr 5, 2008)

did you know that looks like a blank post? the text color is the same as the background.


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## Lobo1987 (Apr 5, 2008)

*looks at it and scratches head*

uhh....i don't see anything wrong from here
how odd...

anyone else having that problem?


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## TakeWalker (Apr 5, 2008)

well, now it's fine o.o that was very, very strange


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## Adelio Altomar (Apr 6, 2008)

It's in a readable white text so it's fine for me.

And your work isn't as emo as you claim it to be. It's quite a strange swirl of emotion, with one line of the author's yearning for her, and another with his unweighted soul. Yet I think it's well done.


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## Lobo1987 (Apr 6, 2008)

Yeah, I'll admit that this one isn't all too 'emo,' but in a sense it's only the tip of the iceberg. Once I find the rest of my stuff, you'll see some poetry and haiku that ranges from cute to a bit more dark.

Oh, and I have a long-ish story I'll have to post up here as well. But I'll get to that once I find it. ><'


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## Lobo1987 (Apr 7, 2008)

Good news, everyone!
I found my story, and it's longer than I originally thought. But nonetheless, here it is; and I hope you enjoy....

*House of Sin*

Seven people accounted as missing, possibly dead. Over the past three months, people reported loved ones lost. The police suspect that the disappearances relate to one another since they are all located within three miles of each other. Usually, the police go out in search for the missing, but so far three officers have gone absent while investigating the crime scenes. This is where I come in.
	My name is Thomas Marino. I am 30 years old and an agent for Unnatural Search and Rescue, a government agency dedicated to solving â€œcrimes of interest.â€ I worked at USAR for almost eight years now, exploring multiple crimes and putting numerous psychopaths in solitary confinement. The agencyâ€™s purpose is to solve the crimes that remain classified to the general public. Most crimes the local police departments take on, or even the FBI if it becomes national. It is when the crimes become too bizarre for law enforcement that we come in.
	Right now I am eastbound on the secluded roads within the Pennsylvanian wilderness. The missing people traveled out to this area to participate in outdoor activities, hiking, fishing, and other recreational events. Since the officers assigned to investigate the crime scenes never returned, it remains unknown as to what actually happened. My cell phone has no reception out here, probably because of all the trees in the area, so I know why the officers did not call in to the nearest unit. As I drive along in my company car, a navy blue Buick Le Sabre, I look out at the stunning view of the endless backwoods. The overlook is beautiful, but I know that deep within those woods lies numerous threats. With trees surrounding me on all sides, I feel somewhat lost and alone in the world. I look at my Global Positioning System to see how far I am from the center location of where the disappearances occurred. The sun is starting to descend in the western sky, telling me that within the next hour and a half I will have to investigate in darkness. I drive up to an intersection and check my GPS. It confirms that I will need to turn south onto a dirt road and travel only five more miles before I reach the center of the crime areas. I leave the safety of the highway and begin my journey south; I can only hope that I can find my way back.
	The dirt road sways left and right as I travel the barren route. Within five minutes I arrive at my first destination. At first, I can only see trees on both sides of the road. Then I notice a pair of tire tracks that travel in a small break in the woods. I turn off the dirt road onto the newly found trail and stumble upon an obsolescent house. The abode is only one story tall, dark tan in color with green vines growing on the sides, and appears to be abandoned. Because my GPS reads that this is the central location of where the disappearances occurred, I decide to exit my vehicle and investigate the residence.
	I ascend the porch stairs to the front door; the wooden boards creak under my feet. As I knock on the door I yell, â€œTom Marino, police department, open the door.â€ It is an order from the agency to keep my actual vocation under wraps so people do not question us. Utter silence greets me, so I turn the doorknob only to discover that the door opened without any hesitation. I enter the mysterious domain, and darkness welcomes me. The sun is on the horizon, so there is not much time for me to search. I flick the light switch on the wall, but nothing happens. I can barely see the contents of the room and the dim light that shines in through the windows does not help. I pull out my flashlight and turn it on so I can clearly see my surroundings. My previous assumption proves correct as I observe the main entrance. Layers of dust coat the wooden floor and a musty smell is coming off what little furniture is scattered around the room. To my surprise, I see a set of stairs that lead up to a second floor. The size of the room bewilders me. Because the outside of the house shows only one floor, it is impossible for a second floor to exist inside. It also looks like the main entrance occupies a fourth of the entire house. Even with my eight years enclosed with demented psychopaths, this house brings chills down my spine. There is no use going upstairs if there is no electricity running through the house. I decide to search for the door to the basement so I can find the fuse box. 
	The inside of the house appears to stretch into infinity. I pass by dozens of doors that lead to bedrooms, lavatories, dining areas, and closets. Different halls branch off to various sections of the house; it almost appears to be a colossal maze of psychosis. I begin to think that I will never find the door to the basement, until I stumble upon a disproportionate door. Skulls provide a border for the entrance; a dull red color alienates it from the rest. I decide to turn the knob to see what is on the other side of the door that appears to be an entrance to Hell. All I see is stairs that lead down below the earth; my flashlight is unable to reach the bottom. I have found the basement, so I begin my descent down the stairs.
 I start to count the stairs with each step I take. I reach thirty when I begin to think that this really is the path to Satanâ€™s paradise. My flashlight finally reaches the bottom step and I stride on solid concrete. I only take five steps before I see the fuse box hanging on the wall adjacent to the stairs. I open the lid and flick the main switch to the opposite side. Every single light in the house turns on as I can see all the way up the stairs to the hallway without the aid of my trusty flashlight. As I turn off the flashlight, I gaze in shock at the highlights of the domain. Black candles surround a bizarre symbol in the center of the room. Colors of black and blood red appear on the walls as well as the floor. In the dead center of the room lies a ragged old book. I walk into the center of the emblem and pick up the tome. The cover of the book is soft in spots and feels like skin. I think of a movie from several years back when a man finds the book of the dead and horrific events threaten his life. I flip through the pages and discover words written in red pen. Then it hits me like a gunshot to the abdomen. I am holding the actual book of the dead, Necronomicon. The cover is human flesh, the pages inside written in blood. I skim through the pages until I find a page that grabs my attention. The title reads How to Raise the Dead; a concoction of words unknown to my knowledge covers the page. Before I can even attempt to translate the alien words, the sound of human moans alerts me.
 The sounds come from a door on the other side of the chamber, probably the laundry room. I drop the book and head over to the door. Before I can reach out to turn the knob, the door swings open and slams against the wall. A person shuffles into the room and I pull out my Smith and Wesson .38 special. Usually I would say something like â€œfreezeâ€ or â€œdo not move,â€ but in this case it is completely unnecessary. This person is walking around with rotting flesh on its bones and has only half of a face. Instinct kicks in and I fire one shot into the zombieâ€™s chest. It staggers back a few inches, and then it lunges at me. I fire a second shot through its neck and it falls down â€œdead.â€ Before I can begin to relax two more of the undead stagger into the room. Multiple thoughts run through my mind, most of them about the lost souls in front of me. I fire two more shots, one at each zombie, but they act like nothing even happened. I turn around, sprint for the stairs, and begin to run for my life.
	My feet touch only every third step; I reach the top within a few seconds. As I near the door, one more zombie appears from the hallway. I shoot this one in the head and run through the doorway as its body falls backwards and goes limp on the floor. Leaving the demonic door behind me, I try to retrace my steps through the house, turning left at one corner and right at the next. The zombies from the basement remain a few yards behind me and I can hear others following them. My thoughts fog up in my mind and I cannot remember which direction I came from.  I turn another right and discover a hallway with a dead end. I advance down the hall and try several doors on each side; for some unknown reason, all of them remain sealed like a safe. I turn around to see that five zombies followed me into the long, narrow crypt. One of them has no rot or damage to the face; it looks very familiar. I then recognize the face; it is one of the reported missing people.  The two I shot down and the four with this one must be the others. I feel trapped like a rat, nowhere else to go but back in the direction I came from. I check my revolver to see how many bullets remain in the cylinder. Five shells empty, one live, and the extra rounds linger in my car. There is no way that I can fight off five flesh-ravenous zombies with just one bullet. I fear what they may do to me it they get close enough.
	The undead close in on me.  My back is against the wall. I lift up my gun. The lights automatically go out. I make my decisionâ€¦  *BANG!*


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## Lobo1987 (Apr 14, 2008)

Well I have some good news and a bit of bad.

Good news is that I finally found my poetry. And I'll be able to post some of it up really soon.
Unfortunately, I just got around to registering on FA, so I might just see if I can post it there.

Unless anyone has an argument against that, in which case I'll post here.


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