It's the simplicity of it. The subtle dilation of the pupils - question. The twitch at the corner of the lip - accusation. The apologetic hands against unwilling skin - denial. The faltered "I love you" whispered against the ear - exposure. The false promise of "I'll never do it again - forgiveness. Then you catch him in the … Continue reading The simplicity of lies.
I tore it out, beating and bloody, in a proclamation of love and vulnerability. Disgusted, you rejected it, too confronted by what you saw. Alive but dying. That was our love.
Subdued by fear, I have become stagnant, unable to brace the uncertainty of this chaotic world. Static in my self, I've exhausted myself trying.
For too long, I have been preoccupied with fulfilling the incessant expectations of others; yielding to the fatigue of a socially demanding and financially draining world; clouding my thoughts with a success driven mantra, that fails when compared to the golden measurement of God; suffocated by the hoards of many, yet when I raise my … Continue reading Sky.
"Scottish — used to express grief or pity; alas" "Full of woe, he was." Finnegan Ryle rasped, dumping his latest catch onto the gutting station. "His life, sucky, it was." Gloved hand grasping the Whiting. His knife, scraping back and forth, across the fishes scales. "Didn't think he'd do it tho." Finnegan pauses, eyes aged by years of … Continue reading Waesucks – Interjection
The world is full of pythons. Not with scales, but suits, ties, and cheap Italian cologne. Camouflaged at bars, ready and waiting, martini in hand, searching for a moment of weakness. So tread carefully, save you be lured in by their cleverly crafted compliments. If you tread unwisely, they will ambush you, free drinks in hand; wrapping themselves around you, to warn other … Continue reading Pythons.
"The willful distortion or depreciation of the original meaning of a word" The art of murdering of words. Word murder Word-er. Homicide of nouns, assassination of adjectives, and the slaughter of verbs. To take up ones pen and murder words. Word-er.
I believe, I was never meant to be born. A mistake, disguised as a blessing, a baby never meant to be. You see, I almost died within my mothers womb. My breath was meant to belong to someone else, someone more deserving. Not to the shell of the thing that I have become.
I know she's there, the other me, the one I was meant to be. But the current me is a gluttonous beast, feeding on my fears, failures, and insecurities. She loves my tears, and clouded thoughts. She beats back the real me, at all costs.
"To cross in the form of an X; intersect." Placing a cross in the box, to most is a simple task. Used here as an identifier, a label, to sort us. Two choices, of which you must decussate one. Male or female. But I am none.
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