http://slow.writerscafe.org/Richard%20Bachman The original writings of author Richard Bachman en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775996152 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Its all changing, isn't? This. Its all changing, and I can't stop it. Its moving so quickly. But the worst part is that this has been in the making for years, and I have been the architect the whole time. But what do I have to complain about? I'm a smart young man, I'm told. I'm the first to go to c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/584114/ Ifeel horrible, you know, like that mutt you kicked around. Play with me, untilyou are through using your bag of tricks and the only thing left are yourlashings. Verbally take me out, and beat my brains into our walls we built. Bickeringbricks and cunning snakes slithering back into thei.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/575368/ I need help,I need work,Putting these screwsBack into my headI am mad as birdsRunning from my ghostsLike a mad man,I beat my brains into these bickering bricksI cannot stayI must go,Because they're rightOn my tailI must run across waterAnd hop many mountainsTo prove this allIs not over just yet http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/573654/ Now, Mr. Red Suit, I know we haven't known each other very long, but would you mind not facing that gun barrel at me? I mean, face it at your enemy. That man across the way, playing with himself in the restrooms, and staring at the man next to him in the urinals. Who wouldn't consider him an enemy.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/571638/ I sat on the couch for an hour wondering, "Why can't I watch J'ai Tué Ma Mère without getting a tingle in my hands. But then I thought about the two souls, desire and destination, and the two bodies between them, and smiled for a change. I could tell you now, I still haven't.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/571015/                A spelling bee champion, who cannot spell her own name; a man choking, because his tie is too tight; a child prodigy who cannot talk, and a girl running with a child in her belly- that’s we call “trial a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/570016/ In The Bell Jar, Esther Greenwood battles against the typical stereotype of women in the 1950s. According to the double standard of women, they should become wives, care for their husbands, have numerous children, maintain the household, and be creative through the “only socially acceptable ou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/570012/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/570011/ A girl wishes she were home, but she cannot click her heels because there’s no feeling in her legs, and a girl crying, because she just had an abortion, or no feeling to relish the fact of her abandonment:   “It hurts! It hurts so badly inside!” she sobs.“It&rsq.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/569815/ Why aren't you sorry?Why aren't you sorry?You love my squeamish moansWhen you hurt me, don't you?Why aren't you sorry?! I'm holding myself cryingAs you give me my "well-deserved" lashingsI bet that makes you feel good...What did I do?Nothing...These pieces aren't Fitting together!!Why?! Why not?!D**.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/569813/ The Oneirocritic said,“Don’t run from death.It’s only God callingHis children home for supper.” http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/569811/ Isn’t it funny how someday won’t ever come? Or how such a happy child can be turned into nothing more than a depressed soul? Isn’t it funny how love, on most days, hides and stays far away? Or how ambiguous a person’s actions can be, but how truthful their words can be? I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/569808/ Dear You,I wish you'd Look me in the eyesWhen I say " You caused this..."I wish you'd Look me in the eyesWhen I say "You disappointed me..."I wish sometimesThat you were thereTo comfort me...To tell me thatNone of this was ever my fault...I just wishWe could have lived happily ever afterI just wish .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/569804/ I hope I fall, and I never come backI have given it all up I do not belong, and I will neverBut with a mouth full of your little, colorful cures At that moment, I hit the floorLike a mad man, in his place The hardest part about dealing with thisIs in knowing that n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/569802/ I tell you,It’s something that hurtsMe from the inside, out It claws and tears-Rips and growls�"No, it’s hush-hushDon’t ask, don’t tell I won’t tell anyone,Not even you.It’s my dirty little secret. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/568668/ You know I wouldNever hurt you When I am in my moodMy head splitting and brain melting When I am beating on myselfAnd beating on you When I need my fix,Pounding the walls and drowning Out those soundsI hear, Like revolting shipmatesIn my ears.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/568664/ You treat me like a w***eSome damn prostituteThat you can slap aroundIn the back of an alley Push me against the wallAgainst the dumpstersUntil you’ve came inside and outThrow your money in my face Slap me with a checkBecause that'll make up for it allSpit on .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566540/ Have not I given you anythingBut a tomorrow,Dressed as pixiesDancing in the meadowsNext to drained, moon-dippedRivletsFalling off cliffsLike a Plath woman--Have not I given you anything? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566473/ I think, if I were to kill myself, I'd probably jump of a building. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566468/ This poem, I guess, talks about my dad, and my feelings about him leaving our family. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566466/ I wrote this for my father. I haven't talked to him in years, but I figured I'd write my feelings down. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566183/ This poem is meant to be emotional, angery, and never to be read literal. The whole prose is an allegory. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566180/ I mixed matched stanza forms on purpose. I wrote this poem for my sister, because she constantly called me "mommy's little boy". http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566176/ This poem talks about the thoughts I have, either suicidal or things that went on in my home. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566173/ The poem describes the obsessive fantasies I have about how I wish my life were, I guess. And often a lot of people dream about what they could have, but we all can't. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Richard-Bachman/566170/