out of time

By: Brandon Moore

Writing Prompt: No

Date: 13th Aug 2021

i was born by the river, dirty and mean. learned how to fight for everything that I need. you try and try and try but still you lose a game called life. just another day being born on the wrong side. 




another try hard, boring, same outlook, same story, but I’ve seen it too many times. you are not one of a kind. this is what separates the boys from the men.






weak and distraught, you don’t fucking know me. fingertips and ears in my trophy case, just another victim. i refuse to be a part of your try hard system. all of these men are just boys.








it’s getting harder to sleep. i’ve been gritting my teeth. they want an easy way out, but have never seen the streets. and whether you die on your feet or on your knees, at this point you should take what you can fucking get. you are on the wrong side of the hill where snow doesn’t melt.




just waiting for hell.


and I have brought hell with me


a poem for Valkyrie

i’m in my new skin, a brand new day in a brand new me. will you be able to take my hand and grip it tightly as I take you on the ride of your miserable and non salvageable life? the instinct within your gut betrays you as you say yes and are whisked away. a lifetime passes before you stop to realize that i didn’t come here today to play a game. we arrive at our destination just so that you are allowed the privilege to be maimed. your broken record will spin it’s skipped tune, the trumpet of your triumph, but looking around all we can find is a barren wasteland, the microcosm of your itty bitty putrid reality. you wake up day after day and are force fed the horror that looks back at you in your bathroom mirror.


this sends you on the downward spiral of a wasting away psyche that wasn’t built to handle the turbulence of flying with me. you were unprepared to face the music so now you have sunken to the desolate room with no windows or doors. centuries await sitting alone dying for the presence to be felt of something greater. but the sums of your parts leave you to toil all alone and miserable. self loathing yourself into your very own personal hell, never realizing that the walls were self made and freedom laid just beyond the tips of your dubious pity.


to be saved by a hero with no heroes to ever be found, for you are nothing more than a forgotten face among a crowd of familiar faces doing familiar things. the distance between your beating heart and your hollow brain moves with the pulse of my flow. my words laying out the rhythm your beat will march to. your kind always do what was foretold of them. misery will soon be your dearest companion, so wrap it up tightly so you can still grasp at the chance for a fleeting feeling. but know little one, the feeling will never last.


except for the dread after you succumb to the Everblack.


this is now the legacy you will leave behind. an epic of failure. living embodiment of regret. look up and see me child, and take sufficiently laid out notes so that one day you can rise above your ashes and burn anew. your tired spin on a fabled reality has been played out, and you are exposed as a fraudulent mask being worn by a damsel in distress. just another old and washed up cliché that is now considered offensive, as if the status quo has the ability to cause anything. it just exists. just as you merely exist. and as the old ways wither and go on to reconnect with their origins, you will rest comfortably in obscurity.


take the time to find your solace in the ability to rejoice your fortunes of having the security of being nothing. find your blissful ignorance and dive head first into the deep end where others dare not. find the pride within to hold on to as you begin to fade into the far reaches of a buried thought. never again will you call upon the forces which surround and bind all of existence to aid you in a silly quest to matter. because you don’t matter anymore. and if honesty is the best policy, then my dear, you never mattered at all.





have you ever wanted something so badly, like where you would do anything for it? like maybe revenge? vengeance? whatever. if you have then you know the feeling inside that eats away at you all while at the same time it is a hunger that never goes away.. then, when you finally got what you were after, did you notice that the hurt was still there? did you still feel the turmoil dwelling inside your very being?


well, that’s me right now my friends. i finally got to face the man who both saved my life by giving me a new one and ending that new life just as quickly as he had given it. and of course I was the one left standing, of fucking course.. and it didn’t matter that he was older. it didn’t matter that he had or has cancer or whatever.. none of that matters. it doesn’t matter because i know, as he knows, that the result would have been the same ten years ago. he was the one that created this vicious monster you see before you. but guess what?




to put it frankly, i was a hurt and scared little boy. inside, for all these years. yeah, yeah, there’s some ammunition for whatever opponents to come my way to use against me. just remember folks, you’re looking at not only the best mother fucker in a ring, parking lot, empty field or wherever else we throw hands, but i am also the best at shredding my opponents viscerally with my ability to spin these word like you maggots could only dream of, jerk off to while you witness the GOAT spitting these syllables. but anyway friends, please rewind over a decade ago and you will find me standing at the very top of the pyramid. ask around, my words aren’t bullshit. i’ve just been bullshitting with all of you until now. i had one foot in and one foot out. and damn, just having that one foot in made over half of you look like what sticks to the bowl after i drop a champ champ.. sorry, for the uninitiated that means i was dropping Joe Montuori off at the pool. 


you know what they say though..



so i decided after last night, my moment with damon riggs, that it was time for me to go ahead and kick the whole damn door down, frame and all, and immerse myself into this world wholeheartedly one last time. now you are all in serious trouble misters, ma’ams. if you don’t believe me.. ask all of the ones who have been dreading the moment brandon moore decided to be serious and come take all of their fun away. ask them the stories of the real brandon moore. i would tell you to ask the great and insurmountable stephen stratford who his daddy was, his unicorn. the one man that even the only other person that could lay claim to best in the world could not conquer, but his ass ain’t nowhere to be found. so ask all the shook ones. or hear it from the horses mouth. damon found me, the details elude me currently, proceeded in starting training me, and a month later i was signed to NCW and part of damon’s 4HA stable. but then the owner saw the new rookie just destroying all of his top talent with ease, like this rook wasn’t even putting in any effort. that part is important because it was the first and biggest gripe damon had with me as we were training. i didn’t try, not really. i remember that he would always scream at me to like, fucking put in the work and you will be considered the greatest to have ever done this. Or shit like, studying and practicing different techniques, watching film on opponents, whatever. that was my first strike in his eyes.. it didn’t matter that i was already running over legends, he saw soemthing inside of me that had never been seen before,, but of course i was a dumb ass 19 year old kid who previously was banging on the streets of St. Louis starting at the age of 13 when Momma Moore went blind. uncle vlad had allowed her to return to Russia because yano, that is his sister, she was blood. why didn’t he take me you ask? he saw what i had become, and i would have been an impediment on his way to the big chair over there. blah, that is another story for another time.. anyway, my ego forced damon’s words to enter one ear and exit the other faster than it had came.. my ego was the biggest in the business. i felt justified because it was as if i had been doing this for years. oh, hey, what do they call that? that’s right..




so that is when I began to have the big-time matches, the main events, and my mentor, the legend, was pushed down the card. i used to think it was jealously that caused him to exile me, push me away from the family that he had given to me.. but now i know the truth. after a world championship here, and a world championship over there. my hubris grew to the point that even Mr. Narcissist himself saw that it had become a serious issue.. i thought i was such hot shit that i didn’t think anything or body could stop me, including my old habits and way of life. so.. i started getting back into all that noise.. and this is right around the time that my niece Allison had met dane, who also became one of damon’s protégés. dane had just gotten out of prison for some shit like grand theft auto or something. no, that’s right, it was vehicular manslaughter. damn dane, we got a lil more in common than anybody woulda thought. ha.


you may see how dane and i are now towards each other, the spite and malice. but did you know that after he came into the fold we immediately hit it off and were best friends, scratch that, that we had grown to be brothers? prolly not, cuz neither of us really speak on it. when we would have practice matches in damon’s home ring, you bet your ass how you see us now is how we were inside that ring. competitors until the fucking end. but i was always able to one up him, and my arrogant ass would rub it in. i never realized it had a profound effect on my brother that he couldn’t see himself as my equal because i never treated him that way.. probably shouldn’t do that to someone you call a brother, but whatever, we were men. he probably was my equal but, hey, i’m brandon moore and will never let such a phrase escape my mouth. not even with my last dying breath.. then once we were outside of that ring, it was nothing but brotherly love. one fuggin love.. most nights we would go out on the town and fuck shit up after out grueling regiments. not like physically fuck shit up, well, not always anyway, but what i mean is, if we were there, that is where everybody wanted to be. dane would be drinking half the damn bar while i was off over in the corner doing lines of snow off bitches titties n shit. making sales to the whole bar, even the owner. that is where i fucked up the first time. because damon owned this bar, and that dude behind it slinging those drinks was a close confidant i had never met. fucking rat.


that was strike two with damon.


why did he care? well.. ha ha.. probably about every other night we would end up in handcuffs, and usually, not always, but usually it would be my fault. fucked with a dude’s girl or some other shit that would lead to a fight, then escalate to a brawl with dane jumping into crowds of dudes with me. back to back like in the movies, i shit you not, we would just wreck every damn last dude who wanted to bleed that night.. dane got into a few of his own, but his was mostly from being tore the fuck up and feeling some type of way about someone looking at him. you better believe i was always returning the favor of being the third man in. fast forward and we would get arrested, a lot, a fucking lot, and damon was just about always there before we even arrived in the squad car. dudes a magician, or just filthy rich with friends on the force, but i always preferred to think he was some magical all seeing demigod or some shit. most of the time we wouldn’t even get booked to be released, they would just grab us out, uncuff us, and damon would handle the rest. now let me tell you, when that happened, we would usually end up in the gym/training area for 24 hours with no break. how do you think i got this huge ass body? i was forced to earn the damn thing, that’s how. 


and it was this way for quite a long time. years? the exact time is lost to the sand of that very time. to be honest, this is the first time i have looked back in earnest at this time period. my hate clouded these memories, only allowing me to see what i wanted to see in my anger. during this time is when michelle and i very first started talking seriously. we had played cat and mouse from the very beginning, the day she approached me while i was sitting by the lake. now this was a different type of talking. there was care and joy in our voices during times of glee, with worry and concern in them during the lesser dark times. the important part is that we had begun to become something special. but then i fucked up. i fucked up very badly.


dane wasn’t a user, of drugs, like, at all. couldn’t even get him to hit on the blunt. nothing. so one time we are at the bar, both doing shots of bourbon back to back to back. now before i continue, just know that all i wanted was for my brother to loosen up and see the other side. dane was distracted talking to a couple of people when the bartender brought the last round we were ever going to have with each other, and i thought, what the hell, this is gonna be fucking awesome. so i put a few little sheets of lsd into his glass, the alcohol dissolving the fragile rice paper you put the shit on to serve as “hits” and he was none the wiser. we did the shots, and went on about the night.


about a little over an hour later, dane started acting funny. i was like, oh shit it’s kicking I’m, he’s gonna have the time of his life tonight, right? WRONG! this dude started wigging out and getting angry. his hold on reality was gone and i have no idea what realm he was in.. all i know is that it wasn’t a very good one. he started swinging on people for no reason and i had to jump in and protect my boy. well, some dude got hit hard enough to have a hematoma develop and flood his brain with blood. dude dropped and was unresponsive. you know how the rest goes. cops were called, they showed up, arrest both of us and a couple others. they put dane and i into the same squad car, and there was something wrong with dane.


his skin was milk white, and his eyes nothing but pupil. you ever seen the exorcist? of course you have. that is what dane did next, and it went everywhere. all over the car, all over both of us. a cop opened the door on dane’s side, and as he did, dane went unconscious and fell out of the car in between the cops feet. so they sent him to the hospital. but me? heh.. they took me to the station. this time there was no damon riggs waiting, and i was booked, processed, and put into a cell away from the general population one. what kind of judgemental shit is that? my thoughts were everywhere at this time. why was i being treated like this and kept away from the other jailed folks?