I said, “hello,”What was her answer–A look of distrust;A look of distain. What will she proveWith that icy stare?That I am unworthyTo help raise our kids? I said, “hello”;She didn’t reply.The look on her faceWas answer enough. Am I a fraud;An unworthy man?For over eight yearsAn uncaring rapist? I said, “hello,”An innocent word.One only utteredFor […]
She Glared at Me Today Read More »
Chapter 1 Someone told me that I should write down my thoughts. They said that it was something that would help me organize all the shouting voices in my head. Honestly, I don’t really see the use in that. I like my shouting to be confused. At least then it makes sense. Otherwise it’s like some media-envisioned
My Therapist Told Me to Write Read More »
Fast forward throughThe daily routine.No need to watch;You’ve seen it before. Although subtle changesMay sometimes appear,They remain unseen–Lost in the blur. Something catches your eye,You grab the remote.But the controls don’t work,The batteries are drained. So there is no stop;There is no rewind.The play button’s broken;Hang on for the ride! The cassette wheels spinWith diamond-tipped
A chest,A book,A scent,A look.Vanishing slowly;Pieces of you. A home,A plan,A future,A laugh,Vanishing slowly;pieces of life. A love,A bond,A trust,All gone.Vanishing slowly;Pieces of me.
I: Death She stood above me at the top of a long, plush staircase—each stair padded with a thin layer of foam and encased in a red velvet shell—holding the spiritual implement of my death in her sticky, blood-stained hands. Her yellow shirt was paired with white shorts, white knee socks, white shoes, and a
I cried that evening when we parted; she slipping silently into the comforting cloak of darkness while I drove away into the night bound for my empty shell of a home filled with no one and no thing except meaningless material possessions. I could still feel her presence beside me even after she left. She
Voices were ringing in my head—Fragments of conversations; photographs of peoples’ lives.Small tidbits of information invaded my essencethen became lost in this massive melting pot of humanity.It has gotten to the point where my own identity is foreign to me.Do I have an identity, or am I just a receptacle—a shellwithin which people throw bits
