Tag: spilled ink

For Who The Graves Toil

Soon all will be dust, swept to dirt, buried past swallowed by the Earth. Even now the wind and mountains creek, to rivers flood, flowing future whispering bones of who came before. Advertisements

Two Is A Crowd, Episode III (aka How To Swim)

I can’t dance, I said. And she said ‘It’s like swimming’ But I can’t do that either. ‘Because you get nervous, I bet.’ Because there’s so much under you hell, monsters, angels, saints, the deliman you stole two croissants from, hell, hell, hell, hell,…

I Thought That Was The Wind

Separating is silent. A quiet exit hardly felt but present and suffocating like air in a humid room. The door creeks opens,sudden draft, cold whoosh of something closing. And suddenly you’re alone.

Two Is A Crowd (Episode I)

It was five minutes before a bad day at work was almost over when I felt my pocket buzz, and before I even read it I knew it would have something to do with sex.  I should have gone home and ordered pizza the…

Jingle Bell Blues (aka All I Want For Christmas Is You…To Shush)

A part of me likes to socialize for the sole purpose of disliking it. A self prophecy or flagellation, depending on the mood I’m in. Instead of rotting at home between four walls and the endless void of myself, I could grab my coat…

My Baby Takes The Morning Train, When Uber Pool Is Too Expensive (aka I’d Quit Tomorrow If Sheena Asked Me To Stay)

It was early morning, around six thirty AM I think. That un-Godly hour when men in construction work boots march soul-less towards the MTA, and a handful of office workers with long commutes start their day before the sun will. When transit is slow…

Nature Is Nice, But 3AM Cheesesteaks Don’t Grow On Trees (aka Urban Disassociation)

A city is a machine that makes escape necessary, for calm that has the kind of quiet you’re afraid to disturb. Tall grass and stubby elms stretched close as the eyes could see, and far as New York pavement can afford. I walk briskly…

Hey Big Guy, Sun’s Gettin’ Real Low (aka I’d Take A Bullet For You. Like, The Sex Toy)

Success makes me uncomfortable. I’m more likely to go on a bender bragging about mistakes I’ve done than stand tall on the soapbox of Facebook, letting the people who barely care know just where I spent my weekend pretending to have a good time…

When You Reach The Last Stop, Show The Grim Reaper You Have A Transfer Card (aka Subway Soliloquy)

STAND-CLEAR-OF-THE-CLOSING-DOORS-PLEASE. Crowded, packed and stuffed with no AC. Doors close, open, close, open, close, open, cl- open. Somebody sucks teeth and the whole train sighs. An afternoon turning evening ride home, ten stops away from Wednesday rituals and the nonsense we do to get…

Love Is A Death Of The Self

Silence is golden, duct tape is silver. Rope, a deep mahogany. The trunk is black, your heart a cold and frigid blue.

Prince Charming Settled (And It Wasn’t For You)

Keep a bottle near me in case she kisses me and goes to sleep. Honey has a horribly twisted love in her lips I can’t resist, bent with a hand on her hip and pride. Dried tears and warm beers because we danced too…

Is It A Drunk Text If I Still Love You?

I don’t know how to talk to you, and although I’d like to. texting at this hour might not help that effort, but, I’ve got midnight in my blood and its the only time I feel like being honest. The moon must hold some…