stasis

I have murdered her at least once a day in my mind. Not every death is violent or gruesome, they all end the same way though.

“Refill? It’s free the first time, costs 1.19 each time after that.”

I blankly look at the waitresses’ long face, her skin pooling under her chin with deep rivers cutting through the creases around her pinched mouth and teeny eyes the color of faded denim . Her cheekbones are too high, like an Arabian horse and her brittle blonde curls cling fiercely to her scalp under her paper hat. Cheap plastic pink tinted lipstick bleeding out of her lip line, stretching towards her nostrils and faint yet bristling mustache.

“No. I’m fine for now.” I spoke slowly, enunciating each word

She fixed me with a look of slight contempt as she strode past, tucking her notebook into the large square pocket of her white apron. Her sensible rubber soled shoes made a barely audible squeaking noise against the checkered linoleum of the diner. She paused to lean against the pie counter and fish a dollar bill out of the clear plastic charity box for a camp for blind children and stuff it down her shirt.

I stared at the Formica tabletop. Each metallic fleck was almost invisible until I closed one eye or moved my position to allow the light to hit it and reveal it to me. I balanced a butter knife on the rim of my glass, and held part of my straw underwater, suctioning my finger to the top to lift it out a core of water and blot designs into the napkin. A slight sigh escapes my lips as I push the remnants of a slice of apple pie around on the ceramic plate. I had barely eaten, instead choosing to mash and shuffle the chunks through the cinnamon sludge that dripped slowly from wounds on either side of the wedge.

I rested my chin under my left hand, tilting my head wearily and letting my eyes relax and un-focus until they began to burn and water and I was forced by my body to blink and regain consciousness back into the dimly lit diner. Instantly I was repulsed by my surroundings. I left a twenty dollar bill for a three dollar meal, not even bothering to get change. The waitress certainly didn’t deserve that tip, however I was not going to waste another breath inside that place. I guess I will consider it a good deed, maybe something will benefit me because I chose to be generous. Although, I suppose because I didn’t have a charitable intention and instead was selfish it might not have the same effect.

Intentions often mean more than the action, or at least in my mind they do.

For instance, I intended to pay him back and I tried to, I just didn’t end up doing it. It was a lack of money initially and then when I had the money, I became scornful and arrogant, why would I give him this money I had to work so hard for?

We pulled into the winding driveway, under the awning of the entrance.
Fir Tree Retirement Community. The wooden sign was weathered from its years of standing quiet sentry to the pneumatic glass door gates that held a veritable treasure trove of senile pensioned elderly. I looked at her, she roughly jammed the gearshift into park and silenced the rumbling motor.

“Fucking car.” She slammer her hands roughly against the door, shoving the plastic handle and lock back into place.

“Easy, girl.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, that’s the last straw as far as I am concerned, Ill drop you off at the bus station on my way back through town. I cant fucking stand your attitude these days, we have nothing but shit to look forward to you and you go and piss all over it with this doom and gloom black rain cloud that follows you around like a lost cat.”

“I don’t even care anymore, Gray. I can stay with my mother in Cinci and you can self destruct without me. This is the last time. Im sorry I ever picked that phone up.” She didn’t even look at me when she spoke, that’s how I knew she had dug a grave for me and tossed in the first handful of soil before my empty body had even settled in the coffin.

I opened the door and slid out of the cab of the truck, opening the door as far as I could before throwing my entire body weight behind it to slam loudly, shaking the truck slightly. Her stare was incredulous. I strode up to those pearly gates, and read the list of names next to the buzzer while I ignored the surge of emotions I thought I had lost sometime ago.

203 -A. Doblinson
204 -A. Yzrechy
205 -V. B. Sanford-Jones

And so on. I chose Front Desk, and ran over my steps in my mind as the doors buzzed loudly before sliding open to admit me into the bowels of the beast. A Trojan horse, I walked proudly through.

homage sentence

Giving up what you want most in this entire world for the person you care most about is either honorable or cowardly. I wasn’t giving up smoking or drinking, because I did neither and had little desire to even if the option was available. I gave up him.

I surrendered him to the wind, and I had clung so tightly for so long. I watched my bird fly away and I hoped he would fly back again someday. I knew the ultimate act of love is to release it. I released my love into the wind and the sky and watched him swoop and dive from the ground.

The instant he darted from my grasp, he tugged my heart out from beneath my skin and marrow. I gasped sharply as the pain spread outward from my chest, my flesh was cool and then snarling beneath my worried palms as it spread down my arms to my fingers. I inhaled, instant pain blossomed in me. I exhaled to ease the pressure as it rose in my eardrums and thickened my throat.

The sunlight was so pure against the feathers that I forgot the pain because my bird was so bright and I could see the beauty that the others saw in him. I was never meant to be the only one to love him, I was always going to love him. Love is watching the color spread in the sky, and realizing that the color could never be appreciated until it was painted across the horizon. My world is vivid, lurid and diseased with this new color. I am getting worse because others are getting better. I will wait for my bird to swoop past, because even a glimpse of the color is preferable to being blind.

sugar thorns

the trunks of the trees are blurring into a sea of emerald bark the longer i peer into the depths of the forest. the field runs wide and green, spanning the weak distance between the copses of trees.
dead leaves are limp under my feet, crushed into silence and fossilizing with the hard, flat packed earth. the trunks of the younger trees are clean and the color of weak tea, the older trees wear venerable robes of moss with pride, enhancing their craggy profiles with an air of wisdom and secrecy.

it is useless to dig or cultivate anything in this soil. i want to be able to dig into the welcoming dirt and hold the rich and heavy proof in my hands. warm black dirt to etch the creases where i bend.

this dirt has been tamped into an ageless path. if i tried to scoop up a handful, my nails would break. the rocks are incorporated with the smooth flow of the muddy path and to dig them out and toss them aside only create pockmarks. tiny pockmarks that will erode and grow with each rain. corrupting the path into a twisted maw. dry roots wail in the wind, their fingers are returning to dust.

each footfall will take soil and leave less behind.

flavor seal

i wouldn't bleed much, no bright spurt of hot blood, perhaps more of a slow drip, weeping carefully down my neck to stain my collar.

i sweep my black hair off the back of my neck and turn slightly to see my profile in the mirror.

i hear the murmur of hooves against the thirsty earth, and the dead trees on the skyline are silent in the cool wind. no leaves ripple in the wind i cannot feel. i hear the whistling snorts and the discordant wails pulled from their throats. unearthly beasts, filled with fear. thick coarse hair and stone skinned hides are flowing over me. the squeals of pain and bellows of blood lust are loud enough to taste.

they are snarling and tearing each other apart in the slaughterhouse of my mind. each thought is wicked and sharp with too many teeth, even the light thoughts are tainted with tentacles or horns. i am motionless on the flat faced rock they flow over and around, its dark gray porous surface is pocked and warm with its own heat under my burnt fingertips. the dust stirred up from their wicked paws should smother me.

i never was looking at myself, i was trying to see what everyone else saw.

i hold my breath as i clench my fingers into fists while they circle closer.

stair railings

Q: If you were a part of your house, which part would you be? (Nouns: ie bed, door, window)

A: I would be the doormat.

blood blister

"GAH!"

im clenching my teeth tight enough to hear them squeak as i cradle my hand, staring incredulously at my palm. not quite my palm, really its that first crease at the base of my index finger. the pointer finger.

a bruise is welling up and a dark pocket of blood is now pushing up against the leathery skin. i drop the offending wrench onto the thin carpet. it had a dear temperament, i just must have pushed it too far and it snapped, nipping my weak skin.

"this room is giving me vertigo."

"well its an old farmhouse, its to be expected. i think. at least its not as bad as dip in the other room. that thing has a goddam gravitational pull. you walk in and just stumble."

im the last out the door and forget to turn the light off as we shamble down the treacherous stairs. steep and narrow, the lightbulb in the hallway long burnt out, the same thin carpet so slick with wear that if you yawn or even blink, its almost a guaranteed ticket on the rug burn express with a quick stop in you-just-knocked-the-wind-out-of-yourself-and-now-you-must-lie-here-helpless-at-the-bottom-of-the-stairs-waiting-to-catch-it-again ville.

"i told you about when i fell down the stairs two summers ago, right?"

we left sloppy tracks on the white tile floor that would dry as the hours crawled by, though no stain would remain.

comprehend

my eyes were burning from all the smoke in the room but i didnt pay any attention to what was going on. i could still hear everyone laughing and walking around.
all the faces were too pink and covered in an alcohol sheen and various other substances illegal and legal and you can almost feel the tension hanging in the air. it makes those short hairs on the back of your neck crackle with electricity and every gaze is met with a round stare. thick black pupils and slim color lapping around the outside. hard white sclera.
bloated eyes still wanting more.

not so much walking as slumping against the wall, melting on arm chairs. molding into the couches. no one bothered to take their shoes off anymore, your toes would be numb from the puddles of melting snow and the lack of heat anyway.

i had my head in my arms, and i felt the cigarette burning the filter in my fingers. my head was too heavy to pick up and my fingers were too thick to move. it can burn, there's still time.

the vocalist was yelping along to the track that was hurtling through space, all those little white pin pricks whizzing by your head at a fantastic pace and spinning along the milky way.

no one will pull over for you to puke. and there arent any rest stops along this stretch of the road.
the next stop isnt for six years.

anyone asking if your okay doesnt receive a response. why bother. they dont care. their drink is getting warm in their hand and you are too busy getting colder on the table.

the whole room is spinning.
please, i just want to go home. i just want to go to bed.




i can taste my heartbeat in my mouth.

hunting for witches

there is a peculiar sensation in my blood tonight.
i want to jump up as soon as the elevator starts to go down
i want to taste my last meal in my throat

it feels grainy when i swallow and its hard not to cough.
i want to hold onto your hand while i pull myself up.
i know its awkward but at least the toliet stays in the same spot

each dream is my shadow
its no different when i wake up and forget where i am.
you fall asleep in the same bed you did the night before
bleary eyes struggle to focus with my early morning cat stretches as i stare down the hallway, im waiting for some nightmare to just melt out of the wall one day and stalk slowly down the hall.


its difficult to approach the day with blue optimism when you know that you will be sweating in your shoes a few moment after you put them on. i make sure the cat has food and check the status of the litterbox to determine how much longer i can put off changing it.

i try and hold on to the last murmur of my dream. i close my eyes and i can feel you next to me. i can smell you. i feel the warm stirring of your breath touching the delicate spot where my neck meets the rest of me.

the sunlight flowing through the blinds burns the lingering feeling away.

i like how everything is better in the dark. every flaw seems softer, less obvious. instead of loud colors, they are muted, soft, and still.
i ache for the way your voice sounds as you tell me everything you cant in the light.



i love you in the dark.

9:07

i paused at the stoplight

my boot was resting lightly on the brake

the train had no time to pause

gathering speed, pulling forward

the catch of the wheels on the tracks was intoxicating

streetlights were bold and searing, staring through the breaks between cars

was the conductor half asleep at the wheel?

dreaming of his wife's soft palms and her good coffee

the scream of the horn demanded attention

my reverie was lost, no longer did the lights entrance me

their cobra stare felt unsettling

i wanted to get closer

the river was calm, singing a lullaby to the houses on the river bank

each window was pocket sized

butter light tumbled out to land on the river's wrinkles

carp were dancing underneath

languid fins and lazy mouths

to a waltz our dished ears could never hope to hear

was your family accounted for?

safe in their beds with the doors closed

were you arguing with your wife?

keen words to gut each other

laying yourself out in a warm slippery mess

staining your shirt

sitting on your old leather couch

cracked and peeling

sunburnt, tugging on the cloth

pulling the insides out

hoping she would walk back through the door

tonight you might be drunk

cradling the toilet and praying for redemption

slurred and mulled, aged salvation

i do not wish to burn in the mortal fire!

while i stare through my filmy windshield

at the royal sky with pin-thin stars

i press my fingers in the ditch of my arm
i feel my pulse panic and leap

i cautiously prod the seam
im searching for the spot where the thread was tied off

once i find it, i plan on yanking it out
a swift motion, if i hesitate all i will feel is a slow burn

tonight is not a night for burning

i want to be the dust on your bookshelf
i want to be the feathers on the crane
i want to be the last train leaving town

tonight is a night to resonate