Haze

Hissing and glowing,
The paper burns.
The crumpled leaves
Contort and scorch.
As the burnt specks tumble
Silently to the floor.
Wisps of dancing smoke
Weave through the air
And glide through fingers
That slide through his hair.
The searing smell of ember
Spirals from his soothing sigh
Entwining with the space
Outside my parted lips.
My mouth drying,
My throat aching.
His tongue was the taste
Of menthol and ash.
I breathe in, tasting,
And reliving the past.

Waters of Reflection

That night, in that smoke infested apartment, all I remember feeling was the underlying truth that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I remember feeling the emptiness felt when life lazily sits down and goes nowhere, and if I would have returned to that apartment, night after night, my feet would’ve forgotten how to move forward.

As the sloshing sounds of alcohol being emptied from the bottles clashed with the raucous, sputtering laughter of intoxication, I looked up for a familiar face. Gracing each corner of the room with my quiet eyes, I searched for the flopping, curling auburn hair that distinguished my roommate, Colbin. A grumbling sigh tumbled inside of my chest as I realized that he was nowhere in sight. The unruly sounds beat against my back as I sauntered from the room; wading through the smoke, I allowed my fingertips to graze along the jagged paint decorating the walls as I passed down the hallway.

Nearing the end, I stumbled upon a faint but definite sound. A secret sobbing, broken up by an occasional outburst of scratching coughs, hid itself behind a closed door. Placing my fingertips against the frame, I breathlessly turn the knob with my other hand, whispering to the person on the other side that I was coming in. The door resisted at first, but finally opened with a scraping screech. Inside I witnessed the drooping head of hair that I searched for earlier sprouting from the clean, white porcelain of the toilet.

Swiftly gliding over to Colbin, pushing the door shut in the same motion, I perched beside him in a comforting manner. His face turned sluggishly from the inside of the bowl to view his intruder, and as his weary eyes met mine I noticed how his eyelids hung low and his lips remained loose and parted. Sputtering a stream of incoherent words, his head swung heavily back to the toilet. His shoulders immediately dropped towards the ground, creating an arch his back.

My voice sounded like the soft cooing of a pigeon as I placed my hand against his shirt, the heat from his skin dampening the cloth. “Hey, boy… you okay?” As if in response, his spine reached towards the ceiling as the grating sound of gagging pushed out from his throat, followed by the vomit gushing from his mouth to splash in to the toilet water. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his torso, and held tight; my right hand rested at the base of his neck, my fingers stretching to entwine strands of his hair between them.

As his stomach calmed, he carefully turned to me as if he were in a great deal of pain, moving slow and methodically as if not to upset the sleeping monster inside of him. Pressing his sweaty forehead against my shoulder, the tears instantly shook out of him. His drunken words suddenly slid off his lips alongside the vomit the dripped from his chin, and his tired voice, sore and cracking, seemed to slap against the walls of the dingy bathroom.

In that short moment, so much emotion slipped from him and onto my lap. I could almost feel the ache carve empty my chest. I buried his head into my shoulder and allowed his coarse hair to scrape against my chin as I whispered quiet sounds into his ear.

Thinking that his outburst was finished, I was not prepared for what happened next. I felt it before I heard it, the rumbling wave of anger that fractured from him in the form of a single, powerfully uttered four letter word. His arms tightened around my waist as his tears burned into his cheeks, seethed by a fit of pure anger. I felt the heat pulse through my blood, rattling my insides and scorching my skin. Even his breath, against my neck, felt as if he were melting the very skin upon it; I could almost feel the flesh oozing from my bones.

Silence stiffened the air, but his soundless scream became lodged in my own throat as I absorbed all of his impairing emotions. My mind spinning with disjointed thoughts, my jaw tightening with clenched teeth, I didn’t think I could handle the continuous flow of such passionate rage. In fact, I was just about to collapse when his sobbing reduced to a childlike hiccup. A sudden sleep befell him, which left him draped heavily across my chest. As his runny snores began to sneak up from his slumber, I dragged my fingernails gently across the dried sweat along his back.

I had watched him for about an hour, watching him retch into the piss-stained bowl, and I recall thinking at how beautiful the act of throwing up truly was. How stunning it is to see the body’s reaction to pain, to the burning, and to the fear of uncertainty, with the eyes wide and gaping as the mind begs the body to stop heaving. His face thrown into the toilet, forced to confront his inside mess. Face to face with his troubles. Nothing to hide. Nothing to do but feel what must be felt in order for change to occur. As he stares into the filth presented right under his nose, I witness this clarifying pain knowing that it is simply beautiful.

Living in Twilight

My gaze sticks to the table as my finger scratches at the smooth surface. My mind aches as I unbury a moment in time that has been brought back to my attention by the simple, common smell of burning tobacco. I can hear the paper crackling as the heat turns it to ash with each inhaled breath. I envelop myself in this sound, wrapping it around me like a comfort blanket, hiding in the images, from the future. Helplessly fading from the present, I close my eyes and remember.

It is a rare occurrence indeed when a person I meet in life matches the complexity and depth of the characters that I create in my head, which is why it was such a surprise when Cory entered my life. For not only did he equal the appeal of my characters, but he bettered them. His dark, open eyes, under a constantly furrowed brow spoke heavily of a painful history. A level of strife that I understood, though I soon realized as we began learning about each other that Cory held more experience in one single memory than I have encountered in my entire life.

I concluded that after all he’s been through, he sees differently than most, for in his eyes, everyone is part of a whole, a single mass of people, and it requires a very special kind of person to draw his attention away from his thoughts. I don’t understand why he gave me a chance, and he doesn’t truly understand what exactly it was about me that made it so easy for him to open up. It seemed all I had to do was look at him, with my wide, accepting eyes, and his problems would slip off his lips and pool in my lap. He once told me that the way I loved others without any benefit to myself reminded him of how he used to be just two years prior. Maybe, it was that reason alone that explains why uncharacteristically gave me his attention.

For about a week he spent hours in the night speaking of his past, and soon it became clear exactly how the sadness had crept into his eyes. His stories were full of deceit, anger, blame, and loss, and as his accounts slowly piled on my shoulders, his memories blended into my own. I’ve always had the ability to not only read a person’s emotions, but upon seeing the feeling expressed on their features, I feel what emotions are coursing through their blood, and I know the hidden thoughts that scrape against their skull. For but a moment in time, I saw through their eyes and I understood why all these emotions and thoughts existed. It is not through events, ideas, or opinion that I connect with others, it is through emotion, and in this case, when he spoke, the emotions that he poured into me moved me more profoundly than any have before.

After one such night, I took him away from his memories, and brought him into one of mine. Sneaking into a mansion, still in its early stages, the expanse of it resembling a large tree house, I revealed to him in exchange a little of what I viewed through my eyes. As time progressed, the cold finally got to us, and in attempts to cease my shivering, he carefully pulled me into his lap and bent his back over me as protection from the biting air. That was when he first kissed me: a nervous, slow kiss that calmed my shaking.

As the cold eventually seeped into us completely and caused both of our frail frames to tremble, we stood only to realize that we could no longer feel our feet. As we wobbled back to the car, I turned around and observed him struggling to light a cigarette, cradled in his lips, with a quivering hand as he muttered soft curses under his breath. A wave of warmth then seeped into my cheeks, and I don’t ever recall feeling any warmer than I did upon seeing him.
A couple of days passed before Cory invited me over to his place, and upon arriving, his roommates brightened their expressions as they cast their gazes towards me. They now understood why he had spent hours that day cleaning the house. He simply turned his head somehow embarrassed, and mumbled disagreement. Hours progressed, and we ended up in his small room, which did not even contain a bed, but only a single, rickety chair set next to a computer.

He had appeared reluctant to show her his room, for it smelled heavily of piss, for his dog lived inside there whenever Cory was gone. I must admit, that I was quite surprised at how little I cared about the stench. I even took comfort in the candles that he lit to mask the smell, and I watched the light from the flames flicker upon his dried, peeling walls that were covered with posters of various bands. Yet, the faded glow upon his face stunned me, and I regretfully had to turn my eyes away from drinking in his appearance. I enjoyed the sight far too much for my own good; even then, I knew this to be true. The moment weakened me, drawing discomfort until he turned on music and sat beside her in the chair I was sitting in.

Leaning his head upon my shoulder, exposing his slender neck, my fingertips began to trace imaginary lines along his chin and lips. Then, turning to her, he whispered his delicate breath upon my skin, and when his lips touched mine, they spoke a language not expressed in words. Pulling her from the seat, we stood in the middle of the room, and for the first time that I could remember, as he peeled the clothes from my body, I felt as if he was literally stripping away my barriers.

Never before had I stood naked and felt my bareness reflect her vulnerability, but as he pulled back the dark hair falling in front of his face, and reached for my chin to draw my lips to his once more, my worries and fears fell from me and lied crumpled on the stained floor alongside my clothes. As we lowered to the floor, my hands explored the curve of his lower back as his mouth tasted the nape of my neck, and, I experienced more feeling in one moment than I had ever faced before as a wave of pleasure soon intoxicated me. Pausing only momentarily, his eyes met mine and in that instant something passed between us that finalized a decision. With his breath shallow, he leaned forward while clasping my hand into his. As my eyes closed, I felt my body lean into his as he slipped inside. With a tight clenching of muscles, all of my breath left me in a single throaty sigh.

I knew that his kisses were not to be mistaken as a handshake, and when he placed his lips upon mine, his brow relaxed and his gaze seemed less burdened. It simply felt right. In the morning, we took a shower together. He placed his head in my lap, and it was my turn to protect him, for the water a quickly turned cold, and we were left once again with nothing more than each other to provide warmth. Eventually, turning off the water, I grabbed a towel, which I soon realized was covered in dog hair (for nothing in the house was free from it), and dried him off. He in turn did the same for me. Shortly after, he received a call from his mother, and I drove him to see her.

This was the last time that I saw him as his true self, for as a month passed, I gradually witnessed a change in his behavior. He shut himself away, and instead of speaking to me, he resided in his inward thoughts. I had aroused memories that had been previously hidden safely inside of him, and in response, he trapped himself in his room, away from outward distractions, away from others judgments, and away from others’ words, trapped alone with his own thoughts. Needing to sort through them and piece together his memories, placing the past back where it should be and finding himself once again.

I did not know, and perhaps no one really understands why, but he began to push me away. His empty words beat against my skull, squeezed against my heart, and chocked my own speech. It is true that I allowed him to reveal more of himself than I permitted him to know of myself. How could I have understood the effects of exposing myself to others when I have dwelled mostly in my own thoughts and fears? So, I held my tongue when I wished I would have spoken, and I was afraid to show him exactly how I felt for him. It is possible, I suppose, that he simply thought that I just didn’t care enough or have enough opinions. Either way, I was just not enough of something.

I couldn’t reveal myself enough for him to see me as more than just a lib upon the body of people around him. On the outside there is nothing but my deep, intense eyes that show a slight uniqueness, but if he were to have the patience needed, he would have found what truly makes me stand apart. I could help him, but who is to say that he wants it, for it is easier to be unaware. In ignorance, there is always the possibility for hope, with no definite answer; the truth could be however he wants to perceive it. It is easier to hate than forgive.

It is not often that I come across someone who defeats the appeal of the characters that I create in my head, and it so happens that this one boy did just that and, while he was at it, stole a piece of my heart. After his self reflection is finished, and when he finally steps from his room, who is to say that he hadn’t shed his thoughts of me? Who is to say that he’ll even bring me out with him? Perhaps he leaves the memory of her still crumpled upon his floor. Hope speaks of second chances. Hope tells me that his willingness to share such personal matters means that he’ll not forget me, that I wasn’t just a notch on his bedpost. But, the truth must come eventually and either appease or destroy these certain wishful thoughts. One thing remains certain though, I never once believed that the smell of piss and menthol cigarettes would ever bring me such comfort as it has in days of late.

Lord Death

I remember the first time that I saw him, the man I can only explain as my constant stranger. It was on my sixteenth birthday, and although my friend Lionel was feeling ill, he insisted that we spend the day together. In his weakness, he couldn’t do much, so he merely watched me pick wildflowers and sway with the poppies in the field outside of town. I recall the freedom and contentment I always received from such leisure, and, presently, I wish these certain pastimes were still enough for me. I am grateful to this day, however, for his determination of giving me those last few hours, for that very night Lionel had died in the tub, aiming to cool his fever .

Sobbing could be heard even from the garden outside of his house the minute the doctor pronounced him dead. Inside, I mindlessly ambled in shock through the grieving crowd like a phantom in the night while glancing at all their faces. I have had acquaintance with everyone there at one point or an other. It was my first encounter, though, with the effects of death and how it bleakly dulled the light in people’s eyes. All of them, each one, had the same look, face after face.

Becoming desperate to find a sign of hope, I frantically begun seeking, more ardently than before, in the manner of everyone present. At last, my gaze fell upon a young man with dark hair that I surprisingly did not recognize, and in his glare I discerned something different, something that confounded me. His stare, while pained, was not dimmed or brimming with tears, but instead read a feeling of profound remorse. Positioned stolid in the corner, no one turned to console him. In fact, no one even seemed to notice his presence. I started to force myself closer to him, but once he realized I had my sight fixed upon him, he tersely awoke from his inner thoughts as alarm widened his eyes. Alas, before I could reach him, he was gone.

I have seen him only twice since, and, still, I have the slightest inkling of who he could be. The occurrence of my grandmother’s final rest was also the first instance I had caught sight of my mysterious stranger since Lionel’s death. He was perched outside in a nearby tree as if patiently waiting for something. I was eighteen when I beheld him last. The youngest son of the Baker family went missing after a family picnic near the river, and while everyone was searching for the small boy, I happened upon this striking man instead.

I found him bent over the stream, twiddling his pale, slender fingers in the cool water, and for the first time, I absorbed his façade. His hair was pulled messily back with strands framing his delicate face. He appeared to be about twenty, with full lips, an angular nose, and a sturdy brow. Though his body appeared lean under his sheer tunic, tucked loosely into his pants, in his stance I could tell of its firmness. As I realized the beauty embellishing his figure, to my astonishment, I began to blush.

Collecting courage, I gathered up the ends of my dress and headed apprehensively toward him, almost as if I were approaching a wild animal. My bare feet kept me silent against the mossy carpeting of the forest, which enabled me to sneak behind him after seemingly prolonged seconds. My heart fluttered as I stood over him, for he was still bent over with his long back curving elegantly, and I overheard him humming softly to himself a sorrowful tune. In sympathy, I instantly reached for him, yet upon resting my hand against his bare skin, for his shirt collar was unbuttoned and drooped over his shoulder, an immediate chill ran through me. He was ice cold to the touch.

I drew back my arm with a gasp as he abruptly stood in alarm. He stared straight at me with a bright shade of brown eyes, and with his nostrils flared I feared I had angered him. Yet, there he tensely remained with a restrained foreboding stance. I weakly stepped back, looking to the ground as I began my embarrassed apology.

“I…I shouldn’t have…”

“No.” His face softened as he spoke while extending his arm in a comforting way, but as a sadness overtook his features, he let his arm fall limply back to his side and shamefully continued with his eyes watching his shuffling feet. “Just… what I mean is… It’d be in your best interest to stay as far away from me as you can.” My uneasiness fading as my body relaxed, I advanced closer to him. The apparent grief in his claim afflicted my own heart, and I instinctively longed to ease whatever pain he was enduring. But, to my dismay, he uneasily shifted away. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” With those hushed last words he hurried off into the depths of the forest.

Now nineteen, I lay in my crumpled bed, dying of the disease I should have died from years ago. The town doctor told my parents that he had seen pneumonia this severe only once before. Almost exactly three years before. We all knew he was referring to Lionel. On this night, though in my obstructing delirium, I clearly see my beautiful stranger pacing outside of my window, the full moon silhouetting his form. Rising from my sheets, I find my way into the cool night. Yet, this time, I make no attempt at hiding my approach as I stride compellingly toward him.
Upon seeing me, he halts in his gait and throws his tormented glance at me, except tonight, his frown seems somehow deeper.

“I thought I was to stay clear of you, and here I find you sneaking about my window.” I deliberately stick my chin out as I find myself oddly irritated with him.
A dismal smirk relieves his worried features for a moment as he responds. “On the contrary, this time, I am the one who seeks you.”

“Oh, is that so. And, why is this? Hmm? Are you finally going to tell me who you are? Are you here to explain to me why you sneak around this town like a shadow?” I mumble the last part more to myself than to him, “A shadow that only I seem to notice.” Inhaling, his breath seeping in through his lips, it seems as if he is preparing to rehearse a speech that he has spoken countless times before. Crossing my arms impatiently, I raise my brow while waiting for a ridiculous explanation, but instead, he only sighs, shakes his head, and loosens his expression.

With an uncomfortable demeanor he replies, “Three years ago…your friend Lionel transferred his sickness upon you. I had been following him for some time, you see, keeping an eye on his progress. I suppose that is how I first saw you. You must understand, that in my experience, due to my…uh…profession, I don’t often encounter such levels of happiness of which I observed in your dancing.” As he scrambles for the right words, I come to believe that he chose to speak truly rather than preach his rehearsed discourse. Reflectively, he breathes out with a serene grin, “and your smile…your laugh.” Clearing his throat, his eyes meet mine in an intense gaze lasting only an instant.

Growing more bashful but swift in his speech, he speaks with his hands in his pockets and his chin back upon his chest, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I was fixed on the image of you… in the sunlight, uninhibited, as you were, in your graceful movements. Painted…yes, it was as if you were painted by the sunlight. With your skirt brushing against your knees…the poppies against your ankles, and your hair sweeping against your neck, I swear I’ve never seen so much color than in that moment. Even now, in memory, the brightness of the scene remains.

Nor, have I ever felt such life as I did! Just the idea of me feeling life, it was new territory; I wasn’t prepared. In fact, the feeling that grew within my chest rather astounded me and I grew fearful of it. But still, I could never have disposed of the feeling, even if I had openly desired to.” Expressing somewhat to himself, he whispers, “And, how, with a person in my position, who has known death too personally and for once…for once has seen life, could I not have spared you.”
Confusion weakens me, and I begin to feel fear creep inside me as I mumble uneasily, “What are you saying?” Becoming suddenly faint, I slowly lower myself onto a nearby bench.

Swiftly, he rushes to my side, a concerned countenance on his face. “It’s coming fast.”

“Quit mumbling to yourself and please tell me what’s going on!” I can hear the desperation in my voice.

“I don’t… I don’t know how. The best way I can possibly explain is to say that I work for… someone? No…” He pauses while glancing to the side, as if searching for an answer in the distance, “not someone as much as something. The order of things. How things go.” He groans in annoyance, but continues with a sigh, “I am…well… I regret to admit that…simply put,” He breaks as he swallows aloud and resumes with a sheepish manner, “I am Death.”

Gaping, quiet extraordinarily, I imagine, I feel my heart stir heavily, and obviously noticing my distress, he pleads, “Stay with me, alright. I need you to stay with me. To clarify, I’m not the cause of death, I only meet those who must move on and deliver them to where they are suppose to go. Your sixteenth year, when the signs of death had begun to seep upon you, was the first case, in all the years that I’ve been doing this, of which I grew angry with the ‘Order of Things’. To say this bluntly, I just refused to obtain you.”

Disbelief numbs inside me as I leap from the bench to escape the impact of his report, and I feel the sob begin in my throat as I spit out, “So, you’re here to fetch me, now?” He simply responds with a silent nod, which I retort with a feverish appeal, “You spared me once, please, can’t you do it again? I’m not ready! ”

Rising to stand even with me, he murmurs his reply, “Please, don’t beg. I can’t…It will only make this harder, and it’s already so difficult.”

“Why now, then? Huh? Why now? Couldn’t you have kept away for a just little longer? I’m nineteen! ”

Spinning toward me, so near, I can feel his breath upon me, he hurls out more firmly, apparently
frustrated with where the conversation has landed, “The Order found out. When something doesn’t go the way things should, the Order of Things will eventually find out and correct the wrong. I thought that by now, I would’ve grown apart from this weakness I have for you, which would make this much easier. But, I couldn’t keep myself away. Nevertheless, I managed it, though quite miserably, for some time. I wasn’t aware of how grueling the task would be, and I was even more upset with myself when I felt excitement bloom inside me when I was called to deliver your grandmother.”

Hastening forward, he raises his tone even more, “Can you imagine the guilt I felt! Excitement! Excitement upon the news of someone’s coming death. I quickly pushed away the feeling, however, and decided not to enter the house in efforts to keep from you, and, instead, I waited for your grandmother to come out to me. She was ready, so I knew she wouldn’t try to escape. But, it was a fruitless attempt, for I witnessed you weeping by the fountain.” He hesitated and lowered his voice, “I wanted so dearly to comfort you, but how could I, being who I am, do such a thing. It is not my place.” He finished while shaking his head.

“I don’t… I don’t follow. What would happen to me if I didn’t go with you tonight?”
Running his hands through his long hair, now fallen from the band that held it back, he quietly says, “You will die anyway and your soul will continue to wander and haunt the living. And, I will not have that of you.” His lecture becoming more forceful, he persists, “I have spared you once, and I could do it now, but death will only come again, and next time, and there will always be a next time, you will most likely die in a more sudden manner, not even giving me the chance to rescue you. So I cannot, and I will not, spare you now. I’m sorry.” Turning away, he recovers his composure.

The realization eventually succumbs me and acceptance of my fate slowly clears my previous panicked state. I grasp at all that he had said, listening to his soft voice repeating in my thoughts until something ultimately occurs to me.

Extending my arm, I grip his shoulder until he softly relocates in front of me. Placed near him, his face practically level with mine, in effort to help him recognize that, after all this time, I understand, I break the silence encumbering the somber mood with, of all things, an innocent tease, “I always imagined Death being taller.”

He bears a true, blissful grin that rests lazily upon his face; the first genuine smile I’ve seen lighten his usual dreary mood. I become secretly pleased with myself, and as he regards me with a certain enamoring air, I know that what I had suspected just moments ago is sincere. Breathing out tenderly, I barely utter, “You love me.”

Glancing away as always, he meekly responds with a discreet, “I do.”

Cupping my hands around his face, I feel warm inside although his skin is cold, and, in his hold, I am at ease. When returning his sight upon me, an inevitable sense rushes through my body. A rousing tension builds between us, only intensifying as we both lean in. Once his lips touch mine, a passion erupts between us as his arms hold me tightly against him, my own hands exploring the curve of his lower back.

We mold together like this under the starlight for a while; the moon watching us from above, and at length we pull apart. As I rest my head intimately against his chest, I whisper gently to him, “I am ready for you to take me away now, for what value would there be in life without you…my handsome prince.”

You Say You've Never Felt Jealousy

Scratching inside of your chest?

Well then, if you ever cared about this boy
And you heard what he once said of that girl,
Then you would know.

And, you'd feel it, and you'd hate it.
And, you'd hear it in his voice
And you'd close your eyes
And try to ignore it.

But you've obviously never heard,
And you obviously never cared,
So no wonder you've never felt.

Why couldn't I have known him first.
And maybe that's a little selfish,
But, just because she's always been pretty,
She has had the first hand on most.
And has hurt with her nasty little fetish.

Because she's always been petty,
Which only makes it harder for me
To get this boy to trust.

And it just seems that her trash
Is a beautiful treasure to me.

And I wish him all the love in the world
But most of all I wish it from myself.

But, maybe that's a little selfish.
It's possible that he is hurting worse than I.

I wish I could know
That he knows that
She doesn't deserve
The slightest bit of kindess
After all that she has done.

I can't believe I am banging
My head against the wall again.
But, this time it's different
He is sincere and understands
The difference between
A girl and an accessory.

I've heard the pain in his voice,
It brought tears to my eyes.
In that dingy gas station,
I'd never have know it could
become a place to hold
Such an event as bringing
Together two people.

That pain meant he had loved and lost
And I hope that he doesn't dwell
On what was and thinks of what is.
I hope that she didn't ruin
The chance that I could have
That I might have
With this beautiful boy.

She doesn't deserve
That much power over him.
And, I don't that much power
To be placed over me.

I just want to show him
What I can give.

If only I could show him
How I Feel when he's around,
And even when he's away,
He wouldn't bother me,
And maybe then he will learn
That I can be trusted.

Strange Conversation

The maroon wallpaper was peeling near the corners, and in the eyes of everyone that surrounded me there was an odd blankness. The way they ghostly drifted across the room to each other, repeating the same meaningless conversations in the same dull, monotone voices deeply sickened me. My head began to swim as I felt the lifelessness begin to numb my attention, and I had to escape.

With the smoke slithering into my mouth as I inhaled the stale air, I stumbled for a way out, any door that could lead me away. My eyesight clouded as my mind began to dissipate in effort to dispel the wave of disgust that bubbled in my chest; by the time I stopped staggering, my mind was so far gone, I barely recognized where I had ended up.

The sudden echo of my motions slapping against the walls woke me, and the sour smell of sewage brought me into the realization that I had placed myself in the restroom. Taking advantage of where I was, I sauntered my way to the urinal, yellowed and cracked with age, and unzipped my jeans. I was hardly conscious of the cold draft blowing in from a nearby cracked window until I pulled out to relieve myself. Searching, I found the fogged window, with cobwebs resting in the corners and laced upon the glass, which was so dusty, I could not see the street beyond.

Suddenly, the back of my neck began to sting as I felt eyes staring directly upon me. Clenching my jaw tightly, I attempted to shake off the feeling of melancholic disarray. Closing my eyes for but a moment, my thoughts rewound through the last few months to a moment I shall always hold securely in my mind. Every detail, every whispered breath that she took, shall never be lost.

Just in the way my hand slid up her long, delicate back as I freed her from her dress had instilled such a feeling within me that the impression left could never fade. I lived in that memory. I am still there to this day, and all that had been of me since was simply a shell of a man who’s soul lived with someone else. I wished I could go back to this image, and live before time continued and brought me to this sinister place.

Finally opening my eyes, I rose my chin, oddly surprised to see my reflection gazing straight back, the image somehow too clear for the grimy mirror to have constructed, with the striking blue eyes settled right below my creased brow and my mouth twisted in a worried glower. I looked much more tired than I recalled feeling. I slowly sunk into my reflection, my memories pulling me from my body, and began to remember once more how she had traced her gentle finger down my broad nose and cupped my cheek in her adoring hand. Her touch still stirred along my skin. Memories, haunting memories bloomed like a black rose in the vast cavities of my chest. Deeply immersed in that trance, it required a strange exchange to tear me away. I suddenly felt vulnerable as I stood in that unkempt bathroom, and the abrupt voice that arose from behind me caused me to jump, while letting out a shout, as I grasped for the wall to keep me balanced. Yet, the hidden character continued speaking, which to my great surprise and gratitude meant that she had oddly not heard my pitiful yelp. The voice was raucous and ancient as the echo of it bounced off the hard, faded plastic of the stalls, creating an ominous quality to her speech.

“What’s this I see? A glimmer of love in those eyes? How dare you be so arrogant? You are nothing more than a spot of piss in the miles of pure snow. Empty yourself of this weakness, at once!” The strange cracking voice was from a woman, and it eerily reminded me of a witch’s screech from a fairy tale that I barely remembered from childhood. Much different than the first, the responding voice was like the fragile whimpering of a child, with a pained stuttering chocked between sobs.

“I… I’m sor…sorry. I didn’t…didn’t mean to. I ju…just wanted to feel… I wanted to feel real, for once.” The sloshing sound of liquid hitting liquid and the resonance of brash gagging told me that she had begun vomiting. I believe that her hand had rushed to the wall beside her, to keep her steady as her stomach lurched forward in vicious heaving motions, for a loud banging against the side of the stall followed her meager words.

“Oh, child, stupid, stupid child.” A coarse laugh sputtered from the older woman’s throat, and I imagined that dust fanned out from her cracked lips. “You must have learned by now. You are not worthy of being real. You are but a memory. But a single passing second in his life. Yes, you are an old tee-shirt that he decided to toss away after wearing for just one… last… time.”

A startling, rustling movement followed with a breathy gasp, and looking down, I see the younger woman’s foot slide out from beneath the stall door; the older woman apparently had pushed her closer to the toilet. “Do you see what comes from you? Do you see what you create? This is all you are. This bile that now drips from your pretty lips that’s painted red just for him. Do you smell your disgust in the chunks of your lunch, now lodged in your nose?”
“Ye…Yes. Please leave me be! I understand. I am noth…noth…nothing.”
“Say it like you believe it girl!”
“I am nothing.”
“I am impatient, child, SPEAK UP!”

“I AM NOTHING!” The forcefulness of her sob echoed painfully in my skull, ringing over and over again, poisoning my mind. Her words pinned me firmly against the soiled walls, with my arms spread to each side and my breathing heavy from the fear that triggered sweat to perspire upon my forehead and to stick to my neck. My eyes not being able to rest, they involuntarily twitched from side to side as the remainder of me stood anxiously frozen, not quite knowing what else to do. Her voice was more feeble as she continued, speaking through clinched teeth.
“I am nothing. And I have every right to thank you for helping me come to my senses.”

“As right you should! Miserable creature. You must never bite from the apple. It has done no woman any good. Now stand and compose yourself.”

The young woman’s foot scratched against the filth gathered upon the bathroom tile as she sniffed in her tears and stood up. Realizing my position much too late, I spun around facing the mirror, my face against the top of the urinal and my head hung down. I had every means to rush swiftly from the room, but my legs were shaking too rapidly and my mind was too dazed. I heard heels clicking, and the slow, screeching swing of the stall door opening, and I knew the women had emerged, and most likely had their glaring eyes set fiercely upon me.

No longer being able to hide, I turned slowly around, but to my surprise, I saw only one woman standing before me. I stuttered out a single syllable of confusion as I bluntly gaped back at her. She was pale with purple rings sagged under her hazed green eyes, and her dark raven hair was sloppily pulled up. Her lips, the only vibrant color on her figure, wore a shocking blood red hue that was smeared across her cheek as well as on the top of her hand, and her clothes sagged on her bony frame.

She wavered there like a puzzled phantom, but there she soundly stood, regarding me with stark uncertainty and a faintly growing anger with her head cocked somewhat to the side. Risking movement, I leaned slightly over to glance behind her, just to make sure that there really was no other person. I wasn’t mistaken, there wasn’t anyone else. She was alone the whole time. Scuffing my shoes against the floor, I uneasily scurried away, but right before I heard the door slap behind me, I saw her frail, rigid body unnaturally bent over one of the urinals as her meager voice mumbled to herself, “My, what strange sinks these are…”

A Gothic Tale

There is no greater rejection than that of the human heart, and so Damian hid himself in the darkness of the most impersonal, dreary New York flat. Brooding, lumbering through the sickly rain, he made his retreat to the chapel in the depths of 26th street. The rain pattering on the ground reminded him of dancing in the rain as a child, of times when he was happy. Though these memories of past times only instilled another cringing fit of crippling sorrow inside his chest.

He walked through the rusted gates, swinging open with a sharply screaming screech. The walkway was hidden under chilling puddles, splashing under his black, clicking shoes. His eyes scanned around him and flashes of vividly colored memories sparked against his mind as if on an aged projection screen. A bird bath filled with clear water had invited him, as a child, to cup the cooling liquid in his smooth, innocent hands. Conversation had buzzed and flitted through the churchyard. He remembered his mother's laugh, so much like Rebecca's. Suddenly, his thoughts immediately switched over to images of her.

Oh, how her eyes gleamed when her face lit up as a chirping giggle sang out, pushed out from her beautiful breasts. She decorated her long chestnut locks with violet flowers; she always smelled of lavender and vanilla.

Lightning flashed, cracking through the sky, shocking Damian out of his fruitless dreams. The graveyard was no longer fluttered with blooming buds, but the yard was sunken with continuous rain, dark and foreboding. The forgotten headstones cracked as if in anger, born from all those vacant years in solitude.

How could such a joyful place grow into this melancholic church scene?

He could not imagine the ancient church had once held his loving parents' marriage. The crooked door creaked as he pushed through. Dust sputtered upon the air, chocking Damian, his coughs ricocheted of the heavily walls, the stones faded with time. Strangely enough he spied a candle lit in an empty corner, the light not spreading to the air, chocked by darkness too heavy for light to penetrate. Yet, the dim light provided enough clarity for Damian to observe a cross, swollen and twisted, deformed by each storm that had past resulting in the repetitive drops which fell from the caved in roof.

Not being able to tear his eyes from the gnarled cross, silence drained and pressed against his drumming ears. Time paused motionless and dead until wings fluttered between the rafters of the church. A wind whistled through the decaying walls, blowing out the burning candle. Heart pounding against his ribcage, he breathed heavily while spinning around, his soaked pea coat slapping his legs, and in the far corner near the entrance, he witnessed a flash of a figure skitting through the darkness.

"Hello? Anyone there?" his deep, rustic voice billowed in the empty church. Backing up, he placed his hand against one of the rotten pews. Leaning against it, a three inch long splinter stabbed into his palm. Screaming out in pain, Damian drew his hand to his face, attempting to see the damage. He could feel the warm blood oozing down his wrist in thick streams, and he could smell the sharp, metallic smell arising into the air from his wound.

Empty streets stretched between Damian and the large bell which rang, announcing midnight. Hearing this toll, he shook his head as if to dispel the eerie aura surrounding him. He had been hoping to rekindle, at least, some ounce of happiness or hope, but instead he only found the dead, rundown church of which he now stood inside, as if inside the stomach of a beast.

Finally, he breathed out in a gruff tone, "I need to get the hell out of here." Heading towards the door, a silky voice paused him in his step.

"I really would like to disagree." The soothed sound was a woman's voice. Turning around Damian saw that the candle was relit and standing in the light was a tall, thin woman with striking raven colored hair, cut short and tattered. Her dark hair complemented and brightened her clear, blue eyes. Her lips were naturally scarlet against her pale skin. He couldn't stop staring; she was stunningly more attractive than anyone he had ever come across before. His head became light as if it were floating above his shoulders, and his thoughts became jumbled

"Who are you?" he spat out in stutters and pauses.

"Who I am is of no importance Damian. The night has ended, and you haven't found what you destined out for." Her voice was melodic and poured into the air in a thick and sweet manner, reminding him of honey dripping through the space between them. As she spoke, her body strode towards him, her hips swaying side to side in a seductive manner. As she neared him, he could smell her intoxicating scent of sugar and sweat, and by the time she was close enough to see his own perspiring glands, he was drunk with her presence.

Immobile and entranced, he replied, "H…H…How do you, um, know, my…"

Placing her finger against his full lips, she whispered, "Shhhhh, quiet Damian. Relax. All will be well."

Her cold finger, once taken away, left his lips tingling, almost as if it was still there. He blinked and shook his head to attempt to clear his heavy mind, but each time she said his name, he seemed more in her control. As the seconds passed, he took in her delicate, angular face, and decided he'd let her do so. Perhaps she'd make him feel loved, even if temporarily, for tonight. That is what he truly desired. To find a renewed sense of this feeling.

"You are a handsome one. Dark hair falling to your smooth chin. So young. So fresh." Her fingers entwined in his hair, and then she lowered and placed her hand upon his chest. "So much pain though." As she spoke, her voice sympathetic, his heart melted and he felt strangely healed. "Your russet eyes have no need for sadness tonight." Her slight shoulders were revealed under her sleek black tank top, which was paired with jeans that hugged her legs and graced her hips. Even standing tall in her stance, she only reached his shoulders.

By then, Damian's eyes were drooping and the blood beneath his skin radiated heat, so warm that as her hands traced over his face, pulling back his hair, the iciness of her touch almost burned his skin; this sensation alone keeping him awake. Leaning forward in a kiss, she licked his neck from its base to his ear.

"Delicious. AB positive. Perfect. Damian my dear, you are going to make a most delightful meal." She breathed out as she opened her mouth, revealing two half-inch long fangs. As she pierced into his throat, his blood pooling into her mouth, his breath choked and gasped. His body slowly became limp as she held his withering shell in her arms. The spiced smell and the sweet taste of the smooth liquid sliding down her throat satisfied her so much, a shiver ran down her spine. The blood colored her cheeks as she drank it from the body of this handsome man, running it into her own veins. At the moment when Damian's life slipped through the wholes in his neck, the twisted cross fell off the mantle with and endless crash.

Standing up, she whipped the last drops from her lip, looking up to the sky she spoke with a content smirk "Finish him off." Pacing slowly, she then disappeared into the darkness, which enveloped her receding figure.

Within seconds a multitude of ravens and pitch black crows flew down and began pecking off his flesh in tiny pieces, poking at his dried eyes, eating his cold, lifeless corpse, and not one drop of blood splashed against the old, wooden floor. A shell of a man lie in the church, and if an onlooker witnessed the gruesome act, they would have found that there wasn't a single speck of blood left in that heartbroken corpse.

Damian found at least one thing before his end, his heart no longer felt the pain of his loss. Secretly, he had wanted something, anything to end it, and it just happened that what it took was for his heart to cease beating all together.

Confusion On a Spring Day

The winds are swirling
within my mind
thoughts are buzzing.
I can't find peace,
but the air is cool
and the sun is shining,
sending her rays to dance
Upon my skin, tingling.

but lust isn't the same as love
and i want lust for only
the one i love.
but not everything is perfect
and i must keep up
the strength i have acquired
to hold back the unwanted desires.

so wash me clean
pour cold water across my head
let me taste the fresh
crisp taste of this rain
that sparkles under the sky.

let my eyes feel new
as drops flow down my upturned head,
brushingclinging to my eyelashes.
my hair is dark,
hugging my shoulders
as the water runs
down my neck,
gracing down my back,
drenching me in forgiveness
covering me in simple bliss.

a slight smile,
my arms reaching for the sun,
I think of the one I truly love
and the breeze starts softly
gracing my skin
and drying the drops,
soaking them into each pore,
a part of me forever.
swirling,
the world spins
and all my thoughts
twist in the air around me,
my thoughts relax, and
as I tumble to the soft
loft of the rolling hills
and many shades of green,
I stare at the depth of blue,
whisper my truth,
and slip into the only place
I have ever really belonged.

Torn Between Two

whispers burn into the folds
of the ears hidden
under the unkempt hair
decorated with gripping
fingers, as I attempt
to rip away the thoughts
pounding against my skull.

all is well
all is just
whispers and lies
whispers and lies.

my smiles once belonged to me
but now they are lost
somewhere between my confusion
and images of the past.

all is well
all is just
whispers and lies
whispers and lies

a feeling crept upon my chest
unwanted, I tried to fight it.
now I am split and have no choice.
I have one sword
and two of whom
I have no desireto fight.

Fear of loosing
fear of rejection.
My eyelids flickering
as my breath quickens.

I attempt to straighten,
quiet the battle inside my head.

One for him
The other
for the other.

Screaming, my hands
find the nesting home
within the strands of hair
that fall before my face.
Hiding my tears.

I've never been good at hiding.
He knew all along.
I did not ask to feel exactly as I do now.
But time is all that is left
To lead me where I should.
And when he turns around,I wonder even now,
Where precisely I'll be.

I never asked for this feeling,
not fair to him
as much as the other.
I'll wear a smile.
for him.
for him.

I'll wear a smile for me.

Things are beginning.
Not ending.
With leaves under my face,
fallen upon the ground,
I crawl one reach forward.
Things are beginning.

Crackling.
I might try to stand.
But not now.
The sun is still so light
and the time is just not right.
It's too early.
But things are beginning.

Moonlight Sonata

Star Bright, Moon Light

it is the moon that intrigues me.
the soft silvery light
that sings lullabies into the night.

the moon is more forgiving
than any sunlight I've seen,
though profoundly beautiful,
and warming with it's golden colors.
I prefer the moon.

After seeing the light,
and knowing the dark
I prefer the moon.

The night is my cover.
The peace as the world falls asleep,
and leaves the world to me.

The night is my freedom.
The world is my playground,
once the sun says goodbye
until morning.

The moon with his pale light, gentle
but with powerful ways of moving the tides.
Seductive and caring.
The moon with his secrets,
I want to understand him more.

I have been the moon's lover.

Listen to me sing
as the moon fills.
Listen to my song,
much louder than the crickets.

I have touched the moon,
and forever am changed
by the impression left upon me.

Arachnophobia At It's Best

Monsters, You Stay Away! I Can Smell Your Decay!

Blackness devours my eyes; my hand is a stranger in front of my own face. A sour, putrid smell forces its way into my nose, causing my wide, searching eyes to itch and water. I cough in attempt to rid the decaying smell from my system, trying to clear from my thoughts the scent that lingers in some forgotten corner of this room . My arm reaches out into the abyss, and I can almost feel the darkness eat at my skin. I take several steps forward, searching for a switch that will reveal this mysterious room, my feet scuffling along the rough pavement below. The staleness of the air informs me there are no windows or apertures present inside this prison like area.

Finally, the cold concrete wall finds my reaching fingertips. Sliding my hand along the rough surface, I find the switch. A chill runs along my arm, as if I had just been shocked from the electricity that buzzes behind these thick walls. Suddenly, a feeling of something scurrying up my arm tingles along my skin. I flick on the switch, and observe a large arachnid crouched on my forearm. About the size of a softball, its long, sharp, black fangs drip with a tawny liquid. Its blank eyes, numbered about fifty, stare directly into my own two, frightened eyes. The hair prickling out of the leather-like skin raises and pokes into my arm, leaving hundreds of small red spots.

The hot blood bubbling from the wounds wake me up from my panic. A quick rustling flips inside my abdomen, rising like lightning up past my chest, lodging itself in my throat. Finally, my scream erupts into the dead silence like a firecracker in the night. Rapidly, the spider switched positions and sank its needle like fangs into me. Numbness shocked through my arm, and a gangrene color spider-webbed along my skin, racing away from the puncture wound, like rapidly growing green vines. Vomit choked my scream. Turning around, it placed it's backside inside one of the holes created from the bite and released tiny white spheres, which were lurid in sight.

Shortly after, the spider sprung from my arm and attached to the wall. Looking back down at my arm, I saw the wound begin to swell like a growing volcano, and soon my skin, pink and swollen, erupted as tiny spiders scampered and crawled up my arm. I gazed around me in a daze, and I noticed for the first time the multitude of rotting human carcasses that were strewn around me; their mouths opened in a continuous, silent scream, and the eye sockets carved empty and dark. Hundreds of giant spiders weaved themselves through the rib cages of the bodies, now turned into habitats for these monsters. Gray skin hung from the yellowed bones.
The sudden feeling of an extreme itch pulls my terrified eyes back towards my arms. Half of my skin had already been devoured by these tiny fiends. My head began to spin. My eyesight clouded by fear as well as the poison as I realized my end.

Calling the Magic of Holy Water

Don’t enter my thoughts, you’ll only leave burdened...

It feels every sin is upon them.
I rinse my hands in holy water,
And the people stare in horror.

They dip their little fingers
Dappling them in the water.
But, I am far more dirty than they.
I rush out to escape the silent disdain.
I just wanted to be clean.
These fingers I bring to my face
To catch the tears that run
Because of the mistakes I've made
Tremble with fear of an uncertain tomorrow.

Sometimes it seems that the only future I can control
Involves me ending it all together.
In the finale, at least I had control, right?
Wrong.

Because in a few months time,
Everyone would have forgot me.
In my attempt to earn control,
I would let my greatest fear arise.
I would loose everything dear to me.

And everyone I am dear to,
Which is very few,
Would have to deal with the loss
And they would experience

The very feeling I fled from.
I would have nothing left
But the darkness,
And the voices of the earth
Telling me of my wrongs.

Not much different than being here
In the light that is much less forgiving.
Bring me to the moon.
Higher than any bug will fly.
Higher than my minute worries.
High enough to balance out my low veneer.
High enough to erase my low condition,
Just for a moment in time.

But silly me, I forget in my troubles,
That without even lifting a finger,
You have me thinking of you,
No matter how high I get.
No mater how pathetic I've become.

Today, My Words Are Easily Made Dark

I Can’t Easily Make My Words Dark...

Even in anger, the tobacco doesn't find the cancer to spread.
Even in sadness, the dust never settles upon the tired, open book.
Yet now, the strands of black smoke blows from the rusted pipe
That is shoved down my throat, and I choke on these words.

See my throat, ripped open, and let the sounds
Spill out as blood pooling on the table.
My fingers grasp at the hot liquid as it sticks maliciously to my fingers.
I can't strand the letters together,
And all my words become stutters and broken syllables.

The truth is what I've told him.
Over and over.
With each look.
But, did he refuse to contain it in his grasp?

Like the blood seeping from my spread fingers.
Like the smoke seeping from my pores.

Dip me in water and rinse me of my transgressions.
Or does that sound to 'Godly' to you?
Burn me in cool flames and brush away my 'exaggerations'.

Everyone has faults.
Does that sound about right?

The Dying Existance of Autumn

The Dieing Existence of Autumn
The sun is screened
Dulled and asleep.
The air seeps in cool tendrils
As the fall glides in.
And the fleece blanket calls.

The couch by the window
Whispers lullabies into the room.
The setting sun peaks in
With sad, drooping eyes
As the light fades into the ground.

Loneliness creeps around
Tiptoeing like a thief.
Sleeping away this dreary day,
I am safe from the sneaking
And sinking feelings
That I am so easily a prey.

Carcass Dreams

I died three days ago.
I think. It could be months.
But things seem so different now.
Everything's so unconnected with time.
I have fallen out of its interest, you see.
It only cares to erase me from its sight,
Decaying me and molding me
Into the earth that surrounds me.
It turns its back, not wanting to
Witness what exactly it has done to me.

I still lie here in this puddle of caked blood. The leaves of the forest painted on my sallow skin. In the sunlight I look as if I were made by shimmering pearl, a strange kind of beautiful. I would be slightly more content with death if I didn't feel this itching in my stomach, the scratching in my head, the crawling in my chest. The insects of the world have started eating me hollow, and I can feel each movement and twitch inside of my still corpse.

I can't even blink when the sun is at its peak, staring straight down into my blank, dulled eyes.

The animals of the woods come by, attracted to the smell of my rotting carcass, and I do not understand their attraction to the putrid smell. I lay here all day and night wishing I had lost my sense of smell upon the arrival of my demise, but for some terrible reason, I lay here equipped with all senses. Nonetheless, the creatures come: nibbling and ripping the flesh and meat from my bones. I can hear the animals chewing raucously on my intestines, the juices slurping around in their mouth. I can feel each tear, but I cannot cringe or scream at them, and lying here paralyzed and unable to rest, my awake mind spins in insanity.

This feeling of being stuck is like no one could understand; it is like the worst of a claustrophobic's nightmare. I am immobile, unable to help myself, unable to cease the pain rupturing through my entire body. Sometimes I can even feel the flesh slop away from my tawny bones, decaying ever so slowly. I cannot cough when a beetle becomes lodged in my throat, squirming around to continue down my pipe and into my lungs, my flattened, useless, torn tissue that used to be my lungs.

Slowly I sink down, sink more into the ground. It pulls at me, and calmly beckons me to fall into it, and though the sound is reassuring, I do not listen. As I lie here in this agony, I wish only one thing. I desire my body to be found. They must find him who damned me; they must find me and put me to rest. I would hate for my loved one's to constantly be immersed in wondering what happened. I don't want anyone to ever feel as stuck as I have felt for weeks now. But, I don't have much time.Days pass, weeks pass, and my body is almost finished becoming the dirt, almost finished sinking into the earth.

If I don't succumb to the life around me, if I don't blend into the grass, the trees, and the moss, I'll be released from my body only to find myself in a whole other hell. I'll become a soul condemned to roam without a body to call its own, and I thought this was unbearable. Just this thought sends my mind to sweep in a fine frenzy.

Still, I lie here in this puddle of blood stains, staring straight up into the sky, seeing through eyes that have been eaten away, the insects nesting in the cavities that remain. I see the moon rising. And the sun setting. And I wait. I wonder how long it will take for someone to find me resting here and waiting.

Last Performance

Last Performance

A single, lone spotlight
Taken over by the shades
Of a heavy night.

A quiet draft blows
Scraps of crumpled paper.
Such a false sense that
Someone is here.

My knowledge, though,
Exceeds the sound
And I know better than
To turn around.

Ropes, old and tarnished
Splinter like a young girl’s braid.
Creaking like the secrets
Of an old abandoned house.

They hang in front
Of my hidden face and
Reaching out, my fingers
Slide slowly along
The cord others have
Felt so many times before.

They smell of the many hands
That have slipped along them
As mine do now.

The grease and oil
Of so many pasts
Sunk into each twine.
And now there’s mine.

They sway like
A cluster of hanged men
In front of my eyes.
And I think of the
Possibility they possess
Of a strained but definite
End.

With just a loop, a tug,
And a quick drop
Onto a new plateau.

I slide my arms through and past,
In between the ropes.
I glide through them:
The only curtain
I’ve ever known.

When this place lived,
How the colors glistened.
There were always lines to say,
Costumes to change into,
And scenes to hurry to.

And now, with the colors faded,
All that is left is a sad chorus
Of “what if’s” and “why should I’s”

Somehow peaceful, with not a single
Expression written upon my face,
I enter the spotlight.

A release relieves my body
In the fluctuating pitches
Of my pained scream that
Reverberates to an empty crowd.

An empty stadium
Calls for an encore
With its endless echoes.

My arms straight against my side,
My hands clutched in tight fists.
As I liberate my turmoil,
Head tilted towards the rafters.
The force of the departure
Drains what I have left to fight.

Like a puppet I never was
The strings that never existed
Have finally been placed around
My ankles and wrists.
Only to be snapped as I unravel.

My legs crumpling limply
Beneath me.

Dark blood spills from my skull
Onto the dusty platform
Like ink spilled on a white page.

My fingers twitching as life flickers,
I roll over with my lips touching
The hot, metallic liquid.
I taste life for the first time
In this moment of demise.

In the pooling of blood,
In a shaking breathless manner
I message what I’ve been meaning,
To speak aloud all along,
“You see, I was never
One for theatrics anyway.”

Drinking Games

My hands shake as they pass the drink to my lips: a clear indication that my body cannot handle much more. A slow smile smears on my face as each drink sends me farther away from the truth. I sit on a spinning couch and the sounds around me present themselves in slow motion. Once the clear liquid slides past my lips, the strong smell, much like that of nail polish, causes my stomach to lunge forward as the air gathers and gags within my chest.

The bright lights and the swaying people around the room become hidden as my dark hair falls in front of my pained face. Leaning over, with deep gargling sounds choking in my throat, I expect more to begin pouring from me. I can feel the energy seeping out with each pulsing heave, and, finally I feel my head lop to the side, my lips hanging loose, with nothing left in me. As my hands reach my face to pull back the hair, I see the bleached part of it glowing in the light and become fascinated, for but a moment, in the silken look of it flowing between my fingers. I tie my hair in a sloppy bun, and look around with wide eyes.

Everything then suddenly explodes into hyper speed, with the people jerking around in an odd teenage dance while strange colors float around them. The lights are overbearing as if I were tied down in an operating room staring straight into the beam. Right as this thought slugs into my head, two nurses, smiling deviously, glide in front of the agonizing light. Glancing up with only my eyes, my head still lolling downward as if my chin were too heavy to lift, I see their glowing faces. They speak in soft lullabies, but the words don’t reach my ears.

Their cooing and soft noises remind me of morning birds, and I smile as I feel my left eye involuntarily shut. Looking toward each other, they giggle, even though I don’t remember saying anything funny at all. One of them grabs me with her silk hands and cups my own in hers. She then places a little blue pill in them. I look at it curiously; I don’t recall being sick. I notice how it cradles within the folds of my skin, and I think of it as a robin’s egg and my hands as the nest. In a thick, slow voice, I mutter a sloppy sound, “awwww”.

A reassuring noise flows from one of the girls as she moves my hand to my mouth and places a cold glass to my lips. My face cringes in horrible surprise as the tasteless liquid hits my tongue and for the first time all night, I realize how dry my mouth has actually been. The pill pushes against the inside of my throat as the water carries it down into me. My finger sluggishly traces along my chest, pointing out the passage of the little blue tablet. The couch sinks and for a second I think that I have transformed into the blue pill and the couch is trying to swallow me, but as I glance over my right shoulder, I realize that the girls had just sat next to me. I also recognize that these two that I had thought to be nurses, are not nurses at all.

In fact, I remember they came with Eric and had rode in my car with him. They were loud and obnoxious. I remember. From my left a seductive grace travels down my side pulling me from my head, and I twitch in ticklish delight. Swinging my head towards the feeling, I see that she is very close. Her words finally form within my head, as she whispers, “we want you tonight.”

In my delayed voice, I simply answer in slurred words, “What do you want me to do? I can’t move.” When she laughs, I try running my hands to my ears in attempt to protect them from the screeching sound, but my arms are too heavy to move quick enough.

She continues with a voice that a secret has changed, “Wait just a minute, and you won’t be able to stop moving.” My middle finger on my right hand suddenly feels very wet and tingly, looking over I see the other girl has her lips securely fastened around it as she makes humming noises in her throat. Right as I notice the pleasure in this act, a hand grasps tightly around the inside of my thigh. My brain begins pounding against my skull in effort to escape the thousand thoughts that suddenly flood inside my head, and an immense feeling of joy gradually overcomes me as the two persist with their antics.

Both girls standing at the same time, they break from tasting me and reach for my wrists. They weave me in and out of the crowd with the people all swaying back and forth. Suddenly, I imagine them hanging peacefully from thick ropes that dangle from the ceiling, but like a dog shakes water from its back, I wobble my head in attempt to rid myself of this thought. We finally end up tumbling into a dark room.

The quickness of the following actions frighten me. One of the girls pins me straight against the wall and presses her lips roughly against mine. From her mouth, a slick, slug-like thing slips between my own lips and begins to dance. Coughing, I push her away, as best as I could, but as I did this, the other pulls down my jeans and then continues to envelope her mouth around my manhood. Looking down dumbly, I childishly mumble, “When did that happen?” As she continues, an aching begins in my gut as my muscles around my abdomen delightfully tighten, which causes an insuppressible burning desire. I pull the other close to me and stick my slug into her mouth as she had done to mine. A few minutes pass and the aching in my stomach turns to an aching in my chest. Everything moves faster than my thought process can handle.

A flash of earlier events pierce into my mind, and I can hear them laughing in my head. I recall the annoyance they had caused me. I remember looking back from the driver’s seat and saying something with just enough sarcasm to make them give one last laugh but with just enough truth to make them quiet. Opening my eyes, I find that I am on the bed with one of the girls moving above me as if she’s rowing a boat and I am the boat, and the other biting seductively on her neck. My distorted mind then abruptly alters them into a strange painting of a woman eating a fish, even as it rows the boat for her; this triggers a booming chortle to burst from my lungs. Time passes some more before my head finally begins to clear, and I recollect the little pill, and a morbid realization suddenly swathes me. They aren’t nurses. I’m not sick. And, here I am fully inside of one them. Why? I sputter out my understanding in one harsh word, “Ecstasy!”
“Yes, yes. Pure ecstasy.” The two girls mutter in unison.

My body begins to shake as I start to feel warm. Too warm. I’m scorching as the sweat gathers around my lips. I can taste the salt lingering on them. The tension builds inside of me as I feel like screaming, but disbelief is holding down the sound in my chest. The cry builds and strengthens and takes a different path. It flows into my arms and with a heavy heave, I lunge the witches from me. As they hit the floor in a heap, they both squeal, and a look of fright and disappointment distorts their faces. The enragement carving out of me slightly scares me, and I struggle to allow my breathing cool the fire flaming in my chest. Though, my thoughts cannot be held back in the small confinement of my skull, so I attempt to verbalize them as I spit out breathlessly, “You bitches gave me ecstasy! You… you…. I… fuck… What? I mean… How? I…” Filthy. Used. Pissed. And Helpless.

Feeling too much at once, my body overfills with emotion, and hot tears pour onto my face. The worst part, I realize, is that there is really nothing I can do about this situation. In a muffled sob I finish off with a, “Fuck you.” Pulling on my jeans too quickly, my foot gets caught in the gaping hole in the knee, and I clobber pathetically to the floor. The two girls come to me, and, with their false sympathetic voices, they apologize. My mind is still spinning, and their words become a single constant sound of a dying cat.

They move over me like cobras being charmed from a vase. They smell of liquor and smoke. Their hands reaching for me like tentacles. The anger and disgust starts to build again, but in a much more physical manner. I rush from that feeling as I rush from the room, and I find myself hitting against walls before finally pounding into the front lawn.

The stabbing winter cold cuts into me as I cut into the ground. With my fingertips scratching at the malleable soil beneath me, I let out a grumbling scream. I feel much like a scrap of paper being jostled down the highway by speeding cars. Minutes pass and my chin falls to my chest as energy defies me, and with my head hanging down, I notice how hard I still am and how I still ache for them to move above me. It is this desire, this wanting, that sets me off. I frantically claw at my stomach to release my foe, but when the enemy resides inside, there is no reaching it. The saying, “keep your enemies close” has never been so relevant.

The frustration and aggravation begin to assemble in me once more as I unwillingly tremble from the inside out. Holding myself, I glance around. No one is with me. No one has followed me out to see if I’m alright. No one cares as they all drink and snicker away, safe from the freezing wind that even my numbed body can feel. My hair rests around my bony shoulders, and my skin, reptile-ish from the cold, provides me no warmth.

The great sense of loneliness stabs me viciously from all sides. Finally a hot, thick liquid erupts from my stomach, and like a volcano, I spew the vomit onto the grass. As the smoldering liquid sputters from my mouth and out my nose, the smell and burn of it gags me some more. Grasping the grass between my fingers in attempt to keep me balanced, the green blades slice into my skin. I shudder as the air sucks back in my lungs causing me to collapse. My face smearing in my own puke, I curl into a fetal position and wait to wake up.

The thoughts of childhood sound like the chiming of an ice cream truck in my thoughts. I reminisce a time when all I needed was to be free. As the world slowly blackens around me, my one last thought is the reason why I began drinking in the first place, and before I give in to unconsciousness, I fancy that I feel a warm face nuzzling in the base of my neck, breathing quietly in a soft sleeping rhythm. The sense that this imagined girl feels safe in my arms causes a severe contentment to overtake me as I fall into this dream and forget why I’ve been drinking all along.