It was a mid-morning start, which meant the traffic was a little lighter and the gangs of retirees were taking over the cafes. I pulled up next to a trendy family car – Upper middle class.


I couldn’t see the driver. All I could see was the left arm of the passenger.

The wrist was decorated with the cuffs of a women’s power suit and a gold bracelet that was probably purchased in 1993. The bony hand, barely visible through the window tint, was worn and stressed.

Why isn’t she at work? It’s past 10…

Why wasn’t this independent hand on the steering wheel?

She had probably just come from the doctors. An elbow so casually, so… tensely resting on the window could only mean bad news. Her husband, or dare I say, old friend who’s always loved her but never been able to crack through her tough exterior, had driven her for moral support.

He left his car at hers because she’d rather be dead being seen in his bomb.

What’s the point? I mean, what’s the point of that gold bracelet? It doesn’t impress me much. I wonder if she was rubbing it in her anxiety as the doctor told her the news.

I turn up the music in my car. I wonder if I do it to impress the retirees with amazing heavy metal.

The status symbol is too heavy. It becomes a chain… A metal chain that pulls her along.

What hit her the most in her appointment? The realisation that she’s going to die, or the realisation that she’d wasted her life.

The car, the chain, the suit, the nail polish…

The skin, the muscles, the bones…

The heart.

Let’s strip it all away.

She’s protecting herself. The little girl she once was… She was hurt by the world. So, she put on her armor. She wasn’t enough just being a shining light, a pure spirit. She needed to project and deflect. If she fails, and she will, it’s because of the suit, the chain, the car, the lack of skills… never because of who she is.

She’s not a failure… She’s not…

Written by Randall Evans

This is The Vile Mint




Only Your Happiness

I wish for you the happiness,
That I will never have,
For me, my love, I’m left alone.
Cold and in the black.

The shadows cover everything,
That you once saw as me.
The shadows cover everything,
And I can barely see.

One day we’ll meet by accident,
You’ll call me an old friend.
I’ll laugh and smile and play pretend,
My life is on the mend!

Yet, I sit alone… In the still blue night,
Convincing myself… it will be all right…

Written by Randall Evans

The Honest Poet Bleeds The Most

I can not wake,
I can not sleep.
This heart is heavy,
I am weak.

My eyes don’t see,
They only weep.
My love is gone,
And hope I seek.

What is this path you’ve given me?
Where brothers die and lovers flee?
The me inside has but one key,
And now I’m locked in misery.

I heard her pain as she cried out,
Her heart was broken in her shout.
I’ll take that with me ‘till I die.
As well as our last kiss goodbye.

I held her hand and made her mine,
Each day her eyes would light the sky.
My heart I handed in a box,
Without the thought that I’d be lost.

I’m drowning down in all my pain,
Fragmented self is barely sane.
A broken man, I am again,
Cold, alone, in the rain.

I heard your song, it broke me down.
My tears were falling to the ground.
Have mercy on this sinners heart
I need your love, I’m torn apart.

I know you put her in my sight,
To show me love and end the night.
But, now I’m here and no one knows,
Who I am, my inner woe.

Yet, I don’t care for happy days,
Just for her, to keep her safe.
I do not care if I decay,
Just be with her, that’s what I pray.

Written By Randall Evans

Guest Blog? Free post-age…

I want to grow my blog. As a result, I’m offering my weird voice to anyone. I don’t care if you have 1 follower or 1 000 000. You want a little content, drop me a comment or message.

Give me a subject or a one sentence beginning and I’ll create something. You don’t like it, don’t use it. All I ask is for a link back to my blog.

Sound good? Message me!



The bitterness of death swims in my blood.
But I can’t feel it.
There’s a dizzying warmth in the room,
Faces from the past share smiles that scream.

Walking beneath the waves, beneath the sea.
Someone took the wheel from me.
We all become part of the same organism.
And this monster is drowning but can never be drowned.

I’m a shell. An invisible shell.
Teary faces glance, but they’ll draw nothing from me.
I’m empty. I’m numb.
The memories haven’t died, he’s here somewhere. Somewhere…

In the corner of your eye you see him.
In the laugh of a stranger you hear him.
The flood gates of pain spill inside.
But I can’t feel it. I won’t feel it.

Why are you laughing?
Where has mine gone?
Why can’t I feel it?
Where are my tears?

Run from the room.
Hide in the corner.
In the darkness of your soul.
Don’t interact. Don’t let them steal anything from you.

Emotionless. Motionless.
It broke my friends.
They are broken like me.
Where is the light?

Death takes the invisible.
The eyes are empty.
The day ends with the taste of women’s tears and cheap perfume.
Please give me piece.

Put us back together.
Let us laugh. Let us cry.
I need to feel.
Was it really I who died ?

Please God!

I need to feel.

I need to feel.

– By Randall Evans.

The Great Observer

I am 11:11

A moment in time.

How to explain…

I am like a flick book. A flick book has about 100 pages and each page has a slightly different picture. When you flick the pages quickly, the man in the picture begins to move. Well, the illusion is that the man is moving.

I am that book. I am that book with all the pages ripped out and placed on the floor so that you can see everyone of them.

No illusions. No progression.

I am all the moments in time that don’t interact. Integration itself doesn’t exist in a single solitude moment.

You are the same book. However, the difference is that you only get to be flicked once. You only have one illusion to play out. There is no turning back.

I can’t change the past or the future, so I don’t know what good this advise will be. Maybe the future is so because of my intervention, who can tell?

I can tell you this: One of these moments… one of these pictures… is yours.

There is an exact picture of the very microsecond you die.

I’m looking at it right now.

You die.

I’m certain of it.

My advise is simple. Don’t die before you start living.

I am 00:00

– By Randall Evans.


I was once a man on a ship that sailed aimlessly in an endless storm. My eyes would search for the stars, but the clouds ruled the sky. Nothing could be seen. The fog was so thick that I couldn’t even see the water beneath me.

An actor learns his lines. A cold reading. The actor learns his lines. Another rehearsal. Actors gather backstage. The time has come.

The lights go out in the theater. Our friend walks onto the stage in the darkness, careful not to make a sound.

Center stage.

The curtains open quietly.


I was once a crew on a ship. But that ship was destroyed. Or, maybe it never existed. I remember… It was a ship with no anchor. It never set sail, but it was always sailing…

The actor remembers his line.


A beam of light illuminates our friend on the stage. Now he can exist.

I’m still sailing, but not on that ship. I sail on a fragment of a ship. Maybe it was that same ship, but no one can know. I float into eternity. No place to go. No place but home. Home is this little plank of wood that floats upon the water.

“My heart cries out, but my mouth stays silent.”

The audience watches with keen eyes.

Down into the water. Down into the depths. My home has left me. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

The audience applauds.

“What a great show!”

“highly recommended!”

The actor sits in his dressing room, stained by his character. Stained by something real. He drys the salt water from his brow.

The lights go out. The stars remain hidden.

– By Randall Evans.