Downtime Warfare 2:
Bad Men
By TMS
Copyright 2013 TMS
Cover design copyright TMS 2013 all rights reserved
TMS
https://thisistms.wordpress.com
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
URBAN DECAY
Highflier
Raiders
Spoils
Street dreams
THIRD WORLD DREAMERS
Coca territory
Tragic lord
The genocidalists
El Diablo
Kiss the girls
Face licker
Serial killer sniper
Suicidal
The driver
Interrogator
Military sex
Untitled
Stalker
ABOUT
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URBAN DECAY
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HIGHFLIER
Floating,
Backwards into the night,
Looking up into the sky,
Shards of glass twinkling by.
Single breath
Neon lights poured down
Down
Blinked, awake,
Cushioned by a car
Bleeding bloodied
Bout to doze
Into a dream...
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RAIDERS
Post raid cigarette, on lip
Not bothering to count cash,
Estimating value by sight
Then hauling with coke bricks
Quickly into bag
Five minutes announcement,
Scratching head with 9MM,
Surveying scene,
Not even noticing the bodies or blood,
Calculating if too much or too little was taken,
Shouts of its enough throw it out.
Bag handed and thrown out window,
Few minutes later,
Main force enters the scene,
Cops, blood, bodies and drugs.
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SPOILS
Nightstand,
Gun, badge kilograms.
Head on chest, content.
Cigarette bought to lips
No cash,
Took the cut in drugs.
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STREET DREAMS
Warm night
Regular alley,
Single light
Night activities,
Easy chilling,
Watching the flow of the game,
Dice up and down
Side betting,
Up fifty,
Sip a drink,
Waiting for the joint
To roll back around.
Out of game fuck uttered,
Slowing of time,
Moment to look,
Unarmed running the opposite way,
Soldiers shooting back,
Screams of an AK,
Bodies falling and floating,
Not enough fire power,
Hand late to waist,
Throwing to the ground
Multiple impacts,
Moment of silence.
Taken over by a state of piece,
In awe of the moon and stars,
Unable to move,
Head shaking mentally,
Last thoughts
“Fucken dice.”
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THIRD WORLD DREAMERS
COCA TERRITORY
Jungle lab
Coca territory.
Slaves sweating,
Guards observing slaves and the forest.
Under Gazebo
Bosses son,
Bored,
Bought out for punishment.
Reckless drunken spending,
Second Aston crashed.
Go see where our money comes from,
Spend a few days in the jungle to appreciate.
Golden Parabellums on floor
Shirt and holsters off,
Battery powered fan
On.
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TRAGIC LORD
The alcoholic
Binge drinker
Motherfucker
Opium producer
Thai striptease
Fiefdom
Apocalypse now
Shoot to kill uttered.
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THE GENOCIDALISTS
Smells of charred flesh,
Excrement, death,
Smoking wood
Dying down fires,
Burnt shacks.
Cries of a baby
Followed by shouts of,
“Shut that fuck up!”
Shots fired, silence.
Women already raped tortured,
Men all dead.
Child soldier,
Away from the group,
Cigar between teeth,
AK holstered,
Not bothered by the stench,
Thinking about lunch.
Bandana wrapped around head
By the only tap,
Humming,
Rinsing machete.
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EL DIABLO
Face coated with dirt,
Mixed in with plant pulp
Behind enemy lines
Ammo as it comes,
At ease with taking lives with knives
Deep in the jungles,
Of the grid,
Stalking villages,
Casually killing at own pace.
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KISS THE GIRLS
At ease in the chaos
Too good at killing and tactics,
To be court marshalled
During times of war
CO aware from the reports of the men
Who didn’t participate.
Told by General whatever happens out there,
Stays out there, there’s a war to be won.
Born from a womb,
Manly neighbourhood figure.
Wife and sister,
Never raised a hand
At a women or a girl before.
But this isn’t home.
Just another sergeant with a unit
Not known by face,
But by name given by survivors,
Pale Devil.
Known by enemy soldiers and generals,
Wanted by all men, dead or alive.
Feared by mothers and daughters,
Women and children,
The utterer of the words,
“Kiss the girls.”
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FACE LICKER
Bottle of vodka
34th cigarette in hand,
Master torturer,
Matching scream with scream,
Tears with laughs,
Followed by his tears,
Screams!
Legs and hands chained,
Head held in hands,
Face lick.
Repulsed spit,
Spit licked from lip.
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Hardcore Relic from the days of the Junta,
Great purges, and nights of terrors.
Post revolution, now funded by the democrats,
Preferring the dead man prison fiefdom to run its course.
Rather than a scandal,
That would shatter the country.
“The mad General and his men,
Will eventually kill every prisoner there,
Let those enemies thought dead, remain dead
For the sake of our democracy”
It was said.
No young soldiers, working the prison,
All hard men, no families no sympathy.
Aware of the prisoners’ crimes,
And the generals habits.
Aware of where they are,
What they’ve done,
And for who,
Loyal till the end.
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SERIAL KILLER SNIPER
Excited by the hunt,
Turned on by those who try,
Reduced to a game,
The brave left to run on a bit longer,
Just to see where their efforts lead to.
Bored by the lull in between,
But still disciplined enough
To kill all without discrimination.
Keeping a head count,
Wondering how many others have,
Proud of his numbers,
Yet cautiously optimistic.
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SUICIDAL
Late night,
Deep in the middle of nowhere.
Mission completed,
Unit members around
Invisible, silent
In the dark sleeping.
Awake,
Guard duty alone
Weapon by side,
Against tree sitting.
Staring into the black,
Thumb casually pulling out,
Then returning grenade pin.
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THE DRIVER
Speeding back alleys,
Narrow roads,
Late night,
Loud laughs
Heading back to base,
Bottle passed around,
Sudden shadow,
Shit! Hit.
Shouts inside,
Screaming brakes,
Met by the nights’ silence.
Stop.
Driver frozen behind the wheel,
Aware but unable to act.
No more words,
You know where we are. Said.
Doors opened,
Inspection.
Drive still frozen behind wheel,
Head shake,
Shit, dead.
Complete quiet.
No movement anywhere,
Night not acknowledging anything.
Eye contact,
Unsaid agreement,
Everybody back in,
Doors closed,
Driver told to drive.
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INTERROGATOR
Asthma smoker
Decorated
Two war survivor.
Divorced twice,
Ex Special ops trainer.
Killer.
Now,
Off the books information acquisition specialist.
Behind enemy lines,
Basement,
Beneath abandoned building.
Observing the bleeding boy*,
Young man, barely out of his teens,
Crying like a baby,
Tears mixed with blood and phlegm,
Begging for stop,
Asking for forgiveness,
Claiming not to know
And even if he was in
He’d still be too low to know.
Unlimited patience,
Tools down, gloves off,
Cigarette lit.
Seat moved close to bound boy*
Asking him to just whisper the location,
And it will be all over.
But deep down,
Beyond the job,
Beyond reason,
Not caring about the information.
Secretly wishing the boy* would never speak,
So this could be taken to its end.
Young P.O.W living out a horror,
Lips moved close to ear,
Fear,
Unable to hear
The arousal on breath.
* Young man, post adolescence definition of boy, not pre and adolescent age definition of boy, refer to line 18
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MILITARY SEX
Aware that it’s a leveraging of power,
Away from civilization,
Middle of nowhere base
Finally glad to be one of the feasting.
Fingering laughing, fucking.
Not bothered by the fake smiles,
Fake words,
The Pussy is real,
Long ago abandoned everything else.
Post sex,
Head on chest,
One of only four fans on base blowing
Joint in hand,
Not caring for any of the fucked,
Mostly alternating between lust and disgust,
But always,
No matter what was said, or not said
Obliged to return the favour.
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UNTITLED
Uniform on floor.
Local liquor
Coke from ass cheek
Licked off breast, clit.
Kiss.
Penetration.
Naked,
Slow insertion.
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STALKER
Guard armed in the night,
Pleasant summer,
Cool late night.
Deep in the estates forests,
Miles from the château,
At ease walking his quadrant.
Death slowly stalking
Stop silent.
From a deeper black
Watching the guard,
Waiting,
Breath and heartbeat unwaveringly constant.
Guard casually
Walking closer,
Further into the dark
Unaware.
Two steps, F-S knife,
Back of neck through throat.
Death.
Body held,
Slowly put down.
END
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ABOUT
If you want to find out about me, follow the link
Downtime Warfare2: Bad Men
After writing the first Downtime Warfare, and thoroughly enjoying its conceptualization, there remained a few after thoughts in my mind, “Bad men, Evil guys, Psychopaths...” These thoughts combined with Apocalypse Now, the generic movie ideas of South America drug lords, Russia, corrupt cop movies and series, the vast inventory of war thoughts I’ve gathered from all sorts of war movies, series, books, documentaries, and inspirational music. All these elements combined to create the theoretical framework that I used to build these poems, as I always say.
Thought begets thought
Thanks for reading