A Jingle

So, everyone... I realize I haven't posted in awhile, and I realize we all hate when people don't update their blogs... here's something. Though I have a little curb going on right now... I can't seem to stop singing the Bounty paper towel jingle. Enjoy! And Happy Holidays.



She is here to try and hold back her hurt. She's becoming cold, and she's trying to decipher this change she feels. This is her solitude. This is her snow globe.

Her mittens are blue with a red heart in the center. They keep her fingers toasty while she touches the snow. She looks up as if falls all around her, hitting her eyelashes and dripping down her cheeks. She has a blue hat, and red scarf to match. It takes her an hour to finish the snowman. She loves the gentle memories of being a child in winter time.

She gives him two rocks for eyes, and shivers while taking her scarf and hat off, to put on him. Her phone rings unexpectedly. She pulls it out of her pocket and on the third ring hits silent, so she doesn't have to hear it ring anymore.
For she's empty.

Her other pocket holds a gingerbread man wrapped in a paper towel. She made many the night before. He has blue eyes and blue buttons. His sleeves and legs are adorned with white frosting. She looks at the cookie and has no room for thought about anything other than the fact that there is a home made gingerbread house sitting on the counter in her home, unfinished.
She bites the head off of her ginger bread man just like a child would, and chuckles to herself at how good it tastes to behead a cookie.

The snow flakes are getting bigger. Her snowman already has a layer of fresh snow on him. Any sign of her hands working hard on him are now diminished.
She sits next to a small evergreen finishing her cookie. Now she's starting to think more. The five W's plague her mind. Why? Who?-- but especially the added H, how?

She looks down at the empty red mittens next to her. She wants to cry so badly. The snowflakes do it for her. She rubs her arms and runs her cheek along the top of her shoulder to try and comfort herself. What is going on? She doesn't even know.
All she knows is that there is no one that understands her. No one who is like her.
How will she cope with this for her life? How will this, being alone, not turn into loneliness? The ground beneath her starts to shake and she puts both of her hands on the tree to sturdy herself. Her face crashes against the rough trunk and cuts her chin.

Things settle again, as it snows more. She she's drops of blood fall into the snow, and realizes the cut is not going to stop bleeding anytime soon. She is happy to have the towel with her that her cookie sat in. She holds the towel over her wound. And something snaps. She starting crying. Crying and crying. Happy as ever that no one was around to hear her. She continued to cry until her eyes became swollen and her voice became hoarse. She heard footsteps in the snow behind her.

Who? This is her solitude.
She decides not to move an inch until she has answers to her questions.
Frozen, in her globe.

A Wish and a Gift

"I am scared of him." She speaks while wrapping her caramel colored hair around her finger.

"What Beth? What do you have to be scared of?" Her head is hung low and I lean my head and shoulders down so as to make eye contact with her.

"You just wont get it, you wont." She gets up and strolls to the window staring out it. She knew I 'got it'. "You. You are like a dream Cal. A perfect dream. We'd be perfect together you know."

"Perfect, yes. That would be a bad thing though. We'd need something to argue about... or something." I feel my heart getting heavy and I try to ignore it. "You know it just wouldn't be right." I sigh, knowing we both have this understanding.

"Of course I know, or we would have been together ages ago. We are like... two gay people, that have... uh--." She paused and looked away from the window, at me.

"We have knowledge." I say with almost no mood. None anyone could decipher anyway.

"I can go with that." She smiled playfully.

"So, what does he need? What do you need?" I say to figure out what my role shall be tonight.

"I'm in deeper than you think Cal..."

"I'm sure." I figured as much. Such a wonderfully bright girl she is. Beautiful. And always mixed up in things out of her league.

"You see, I was awake, little to his knowledge. He was taking advantage of Lily in that nasty hotel bathroom. Did we ask for it?" I could only see her long hair down her back and her legs. But I didn't need to see her face, to hear the depth in her voice. "Our job was done Cal, he paid us, we were through. He just wanted us to sleep there with him. Paid extra for it." She said this all with such hesitance. I felt she was hiding something.

She looked at me with guiltiness swimming around in her eyes. "I'm not a hooker Max. I don't do these things. And neither does Lily. We are dancers. We dance."

"Are you convinced?" I say gently, again with no mood.

"What? Well, I don't want you to th--." She took a deep breath. "Cal, she and I had a few in us. Had a pill or two in us. I was irate he was hurting her." I could tell now, more than a few minutes ago, she was scared. Maybe there's more to the story. "And this isn't the first time he's hurt one of our girls. He's hurt me too. But the boss insists--"

"What do you need Beth?" She knows I am always here. A kind of... guardian. I get up to pour more coffee into my white mug.

Again she takes a breath. "Come here." She said. "Please, j-- just come here."

I felt a rush of something go through me. I stare at the black in my mug. This isn't a good feeling. This wasn't her job, not at all. I am the one. It is my duty. Just like when we were children, and I saved her from that bully in school; and that shitty man at the country store that stole her ten dollar bill...

"Beth, you are lovely you know." And I meant it. I set my mug down and followed her. Down two sets of stairs, and into her garage.

"Here. Here Cal." She grabbed my wrist and showed me her back seat. There he was, writhing. Like he was the victim. A helpless little victim. I put both of my hands on hers and I gently pushed her to the corner of the garage. "Let me take care of this sweet heart." She nodded with wide eyes.

I opened the door and looked at the knots tied around his ankles, around his knees, his elbows, his wrists. He must have hurt her, for my Beth to get this angry.
I ripped the tape from his mouth, and pulled the gag out, which was nothing but a black tank top from her little body. I looked at her, and noticed her quivering lips.

"So, what are you doing here? Did you have a good ride?" I looked at him ready to pounce if I needed. He was made of fat, not muscle. And he was whimpering like a child.

"She's psycho man! Do you know what it's like to breathe through your nose for so long? I could have died man." His cheap cologne and stale beer breath smothered me.

"No. I suppose I don't. I've never been in such predicaments. Tell me, what got you here?" I am stern. To the point.

"Fuck you man, untie me or I will blow a cap in you, too."

"Too?" I was pacing the room with my eyes, looking for my next move. I noticed little Beth crouched up, she looked at me and started to sob.

"It was him Cal! Him!" She sobbed while stretching her shirt out as if to hide her body. The thought of him stealing innocence from her... my initial sickness left quickly. I didn't need emotion for this.

"Him." I looked at his disgusting face. "You?"

"Get me the fuck out of here. I swear you will regret the day you were born boy!" I could taste his fear. I've waited long for this moment. So has she.

"You know what I do to men like you? Men that treat women like meat?" I looked at her again.

"I make them... the dinner."

And her and I played with our prey... far into the night.

Sweet Vice

My veins are pulsing blue liquid. My red painted lips are dripping with rain. I watch him from the alley as he walks across the road. He clings to the hook handle on his black umbrella, and his face is nearly absent to me. His right foot steps onto the curb. And I get faint seeing him come closer. Sick with pleasure for what I have planned. Like a cat, I lurk. Awaiting my banquet.

The numbness in my hands make me clench them into fists repeatedly. I want to hear him feel. Make him feel. What I feel. I am not of this world, and I don't ever want to be. I need my fix. His flesh. Our screams.

I shake my head to get the excess water off my razored layers. His converse have been replaced by black suede looking dress shoes today. And I watch and notice all of him, his white shirt with some buttons undone, his dark jeans, papers bent, not folded, and held loosely in his other hand. I see it all...except his face.

The street lights pop on and I turn my head quickly to avoid seeing them best I can. I take a few steps back and set my palms and left cheek against the sopping brick building. I've waited far too long for this. He will feel my agony, my lust, my sickness, my heart beat. He will...

I notice him.

"Come with me!" I grab his wrist so as if not to be forceful, though I will force if needed. And I don't want to make him drop his papers. I pull him off the sidewalk and into the dark. My dark.

He is not the slightest bit surprised. He raises his umbrella and curves his lips up slightly. His light eyes look so dark. "What is the matter dear? You look restless." His voice makes me feel my hunger even more. He looks straight into my eyes and I feel like my plans for tonight were already etched in our fates. I start to lose any composure that is left in my being.

"Cal, I need you, now." I Stare down at my 50's style teal heels. My tone was clear enough. He says nothing and nods looking forward into the dark.

We walk quietly and calmly side by side.

"Umbrella?" He arranges it so it covers us both.


"No." I say lucidly, and step aside


My insides are starting to burn. I feel my lungs melting. The crisp air is blowing the rain right into our faces. The sting of the drops break me. Straining normality I step in front of him. He holds both hands out and drops the umbrella, then the papers. The sky is all that lights us.


I turn carnal. Sweetly vicious. I grab his wrists knowing he can stop me. Knowing he wont. I slam them against the brick and his body follows. My timid appearance is cursed. It's really a lovely curse. I think.


I want to make this last.


My lips quiver, but my actions remain fierce. I let go of his hands and place mine on his chest. I want him exposed and alive. I tear his shirt open, making sure it stays on him. I scrape my nails down his cheeks and neck. He stares at me, giving himself up to my hunger, for it feeds him too.


My hand grasps his nape and the other grabs the waist of his pants. I can't contain it. It's creeping underneath my skin. I taste his lips and neck. But I find myself holding back from what I want. What I need.


"Show me." He says.


I pause.


"Show me what lives inside of you. Lay it, on me. Purge your every emotion. Right here. Now."

So I turn my tastes into bites. Ones of rage and shame; confidence, and hate. His bottom lip bleeds and my fingers trace it's path. Down his chin, onto his shirt. His white shirt, now soaked with cold rain and watered down blood. Now, I am ready.

"You too." I say tensing my jaw.

He grabs my waist and trades places with me. I tear him apart. He grazes over my skin with bloodied hands. He pulls my thigh up next to his side. I lick the scarlet from his neck. I feel. I can breathe. I laugh with sinister joy and look up to the sky.

I put my hands up the back of his shirt. And wrap my arms tightly around him. I feel his flesh under my nails. I want to mark that, too. His face lingers next to my neck. He inhales my scent. I rip open his skin, and he exhales with noise. A noise of love and anguish.

We continue and go deeper into the night and into each other. He is here with me, in my dark.

My body starts to feel free again, simple. I kneel down and let the rain pour over me. Cleanse me. He does the same. His arm raises slowly, and he places it on my back.

"Is it gone now?" He moves my hair from my face and softly touches my skin.

"You know it never is, Cal." I can't look at him anymore. I am scared. I am lost.

"Then we will greet it. Every time it comes. Every night we need to. We will reign over the dark. We will never let it reign over us." He stands up and grabs his umbrella.

I pull myself together and scramble to pick up his sopped papers, in assumption they are important.

"Don't worry dear." He motions me to him.

"But--"

"They are blank." I look at him confused.

"They will leave our presence here. This night doesn't need paper. It is written in blood. And that is how it shall stay."

We are closer to the street now. The light is entering my vision more and more.

"See you in the dark." I said.

"Indeed." He replied.

And we go our separate ways.

Achieving Immortality

You are under my skin,
peeling me with a steak knife
rather than a paring knife.
Yes, my skin is red
and my flesh is delicious.
Such a delicate balance of
bitter and sweet.
Juices melt out of me
and you lick your fingers,
as you keep peeling.

You always grab me.
Your favorite;
worth three pages
of decadent insight.
You say aloud that I
taste like the food of the gods.
Ambrosia!
Ambrosia!
You confer immortality.
You say; you...
can't get enough.

When you notice my bruises
your hands stop moving.
Will you love them?
Or will you cut them from me?

Decisions turn wild
when you partake of them too.

You have now eaten all of the red.
You say the best is sure to come.
The pages you set me on
become wet with nectar.
You take your knife
and place it gently on my head.
The blade is dripping my insides
onto my one leaf.
I smile.
You sever.

You continue to cut
and feast upon my glory.
You feel for a second
like you are penetrating magic
and distilling elements.

When you are finished
you are alone.
Just like you were before.
And you put my seeds
on your pages,
while the taste of ambrosia
still lingers.

Fat Commercialism

You're kidding right? You turn on your computer after whatever kind of long day you've had to check your email, or study, or whatever it may be. And when you sign in to get your email the headline at the top of the screen reads blatantly in huge black and white font:

Why is My Stomach Fat?

Well, first of all, shut up. No one wants to hear or read that. Secondly, if my stomach is fat, it's because I don't exercise, I'm unhealthy, and I eat like a pig. So I don't really need to be asked that. And thirdly, my stomach isn't fat, so why must those of us that are healthy be subjected to such questions?
I have the unfortunate thought that many more people than I'd hope, fall into such commercialism.


On another note...

Heather: "It's a semicolon. A semicolon. It's an A+, you said so yourself. It's art." She nods her head to the left and bites her lip, trying to be respectful. Maybe that semicolon will get semicolon cancer and die.

Anonymous: "Art has rules too Heather, everything has standards. Maybe in unconventional ways even, but standards still, that they must go by."

Heather: "Are you talking man made standards, or natural standards? I get the feeling it's the first. There are no fucking rules." And she walks away quietly.

The Second October

"What else is there for you?"

"The dark." He said. "Nothing left but the dark." He took my hand in his and gently kissed my fingers. "You still have time in the light. They want you. Go." He started to step back into the shadows.

"But I--."

"Go." He said, leaving me to walk into the light.

It is a threshold I don't want to cross. I want to say something or even look behind me into his eyes. He'd understand if he could see my eyes. But I don't. After I shut the door and realize he's really gone I am startled by Mark.

"Where have you been Beth?" He comes up behind me and swings me around. I am thoroughly disgusted with his breath and the joint in his hand.

"I needed air, Mark." Giving him the same arrogance he gave me. I feel so uncomfortable and vulnerable. "You like yourself don't you? You're 'ex' sent me a text you prick. And you know what? I don't mind. Really I don't. I've come to realize that's how normal people live." I stumble trying to pull away from his grip. "Just, leave me alone!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa slow down there sweetie. Why are you always so weird?" The charisma everyone else sees in him is the bile I see. "You just need a little powder, and a little sex. Or a lot of both."

I tilt my head laughing in disbelief.

"Fuck you Mark. And fuck your life. And you know something? Envy does not become you!" I swiftly turn around and walk away with so much emotion in me I want to die to stop feeling it.

While making my way to the front door Jackie catches me. I don't want to pretend. He said he's too old to pretend anymore. Well my excuse is that it's just too much work for me.

Though I really just want to call her a stupid, vile, slut, I contain myself to the first nicest thing that popped in my head. "Why don't you take your $300 whatever name heels and your drunk ass home?"

"Ooh, bad night Beth? Well maybe you should wear a push up bra next time."

" Yea? You stupid, vile, slut. Go fuck yourself." I smirk. I realize the more angry I get, the more I swear. I wonder if it's unattractive to anyone. Do I care?


I take every side, back and hidden road on my drive home. I light up yet another cigarette. I always feel like I can't think without them. I guess it's that whole addiction thing. I miss him, our conversation wasn't enough for me. The smell of the moist, dying leaves are making my whole body shiver. I roll my window down more to inhale the wind in between the drags of my smoke.

I can't make them comfortable around me. Maybe he can. Maybe he just thinks it's something I'll grow into, something I'll learn as time passes. Wouldn't it be grand if he was right there? I shake my head staring into the woods ahead of me. Right there, in all black, waiting for me. Ready and willing to let me take cover under his cloak.

I stop the car and get out. I love this park. I sigh thankfully in the fact that no one is here. I put my back to the hood and push myself up to sit, wondering when we'll meet again. I'm alone. I feel so lucky to have a mind like mine, but I feel so empty. I got only a taste of his blood. And there aren't many around me who understand what he understands.

"You can hate everyone!" I yell to the tops of the maples. "I love everything, and hate everyone!" My head drops down.

He has heard me cry before, I couldn't relax my voice during a phone conversation. He has heard me cry damn it. I close my eyes lightly and repeatedly to make the tears disappear. I jump down and get back in my car so I can get my cell. After shuffling through my purse I pull it out and dial the number. 1-800-coke&sex. No Beth, you idiot. You stupid girl. Pissed at myself I slam the phone shut. I want to be me. Not them. Me.

Is he right? Will I love too much?

Finally I get home and run upstairs to put on my favorite pajamas. I wish he just lied to me. But it would have been in vain. I lay in my bed and dream of life; and death. So scared to one day find out which will be my fate.

Is it Witch Craft?

So I have a story I am working on.
Raina, Bradley, And Tyler are all close friends. The are all involved with music, and all stable in their careers. Seemingly content, and boring. But there is more to Raina than her sexy voice and mysterious, mature life. She can't be broken. She needs a cure. And she isn't the only one. Supernatural? Or just sick?
Who knows, but interesting things happen with a Kukri. And I'm sure they aren't things you may think.
Stay Tuned.

I was meaning for it to be amother post for last week. But it is getting longer and longer. And with my disappointment in myself for the short story, Blood Rivalry, I think I'll make sure this one pleases me before I call it finished. In the mean time, I had to write some...thing.

Here you go:




Their heads are like voo doo dolls. Hair ties and green eyes. They live in the trees.
Their ghost like enemies are too behaved for them, too good. They help the human spirits. And they all writhe together, good and evil, in the trees.

There are more than one hundred spirits in human form lined up facing the same way. Their arms are all held out from their bodies and they all cling to eachother. Wrist to wrist. The khakie brick wall in front of them blurs. And behind every group of ten spirits, there is a tree. Behind the trees there is a street, lit by one street light.

All of the ghost like heads fly from the trees and sit their necks on the arms of the human spirits one after another.

One spirit is missing though. A girl. The heads start churning in anger.

The girl is not far. She is running as fast as her black lungs will let her. Her long hair is flying behind her. She runs into someone. Someone who is really human. He has a box of household items and seems to be headed toward a donation box. She grabs him and hides behind him screaming, he can't see her, but he can see the man that is after her. He thinks the man is after him and tries to run. But the girl pulls his shirt harder, closer to her. "Help me! Help me!" She screams in agony. Bloody saliva is dripping from her mouth. The man after her ignites in her horror. The human with the box pulls a small lamp out of it and crashes it over the middle aged freaks skull. He steps back. Just long enough for the girl to flee.

She makes it to the chain. She runs up the grass hill past a tree. The ghost like heads are almost pulling the branches out. They are hooked by just a mere tail like string of smoke and mist to the tree. One gets up to her face and she can breathe it's soul.

She clings on to the last spirit in the chain. And the process of going to a new universe, begins.

-----

Yes, I could elaborate much more. But I'd rather call it a night. Sooo, night.

Blood Rivalry

I had a weird, horribly annoying nervousness. I jumped when I realized there was someone turning the doorknob at the same time I was. Having to make eye contact for the first time thrilled me. In a not so thrilling way.

"Oh!" I said. "We were just about to have a drink."

"Good idea." She said with a tone I couldn't decipher.

"Right here." I said strolling in my new, black, studded heels. "It's the only way to go. It's right next door. Can't lose. Do you have a fake ID?" I don't think I sounded sarcastic.

"Heh." She pervaded my body with wretched tingles from her pointless laugh.

I watched her turn and jump with open arms to my brother. She already had me not liking her. Her name fits her. In fact she fits her. She's typical. Her long black hair flips out everywhere in layers. The chunks of hot pink blend how they should. Her piercings are the norm for these days.

Not my days. When piercings were hardly accepted and you really did make a statement if you had them. No, she is the regular teenager of 2008. Nothing different, nothing new, not even anything old. For in my book, old is like the coolest old person you could possibly know giving you the best baked cookies you've ever had while sitting and talking about the year 1932. It might be typical and already in history, but it is unique. Oh what a paradox. And she...isn't different, or unique.

"Hailey!" My brother yelped so innocently and happily. "How are you? All of you guys?"

Here we go, I am on my way to my masquerade. Except masquerades are mysterious, mature, and sexy to me. Wrong. I am on my way to, to, well, I just need my damn mask. Why am I here anyway?

"Oh my god Chris, like we're good." She snapped. I wondered if she was real.

So they talked and talked. And I sat and sat. What could such a smart boy possibly talk about with her?

"Give me a Sam Adams, Cherry Wheat." I was surprised such a rundown, no name town had my cherry beer."

"Five dollars." Said the lady behind the bar. I gave her a five. No tip yet.

I sat and gulped, and stared. I had to break this Hailey down. Her eyes were that of a stoner. Her smell was of the greasy munchies she'd eat afterword. Mentally she was not attractive at all. She talked like there was no one like her. And she glanced in the bars mirror every minute. I think she's breaking herself down for me.

"Let's go back to the house." I said not meaning to literally slam my empty bottle down. Still giving no tip.

They didn't mind, they didn't even have a drink. And I just wanted to find a way to move. I was hoping I could just go to my brothers and hide in a bedrooom, but my morbid mind wanted to see more. I wonder what is running through his head.

"So, some old guy at the store gave me twenty dollars." She was telling him, not me.

"For what?"

"For being hot." She replied, with an everyday normality. "That's what he said. A twenty for being hot."

I think the milk and cookies I had earlier curdled with my beer, right in my stomach. I think she really feels good about herself, she really thinks she is the daydream of any man over twenty one. Not under.

I felt like I was the third eye in some statutory mind rape. But Chris has a woman. A pretty damn cool sister in law to me. They are two lucky people. Too bad she's working right now.

After all the talking, of everything I predicted to myself about her, was over, we went outside to quench all of our one common something. Tobacco.

Hugs and good nights. Fakes and reals.

"Maybe again tomorrow." She said. And again I couldn't decipher what I thought of her tone.

My brother and I inhaled our smokes and went back inside.

Maybe again tomorrow? I think not. Then again who am I to tell that to Chris? Blood can always find a way I suppose.

Still Untitled

Where am I? I'm groveling. It's strange though. I am groveling to myself.I lose all of my senses sometimes. And when I have them back, they still aren't mine.I have to be different. Believe I am different. I smack her so hard I swear her neck collapses. She was ready for it?She is what some of my own cells wish I was. I tell myself that. But it probably isn't true.If there was only a way to pierce her, without killing her.I know there isn't. I know there are few choices. And I know what I need.This room is fucking cold. And I love the cold. But let me tell you it doesn't love me. She believes I'm a hero. A supernatural savior. I like her believing that. Hell I think I am a hero sometimes. And I like her getting warm from my indecisive cold. I know so much about her. She's opened her soul for something she's not ready for.


Where am I? I am an indecisive fool. He seems to be melting into himself. What? What is going on? I'm freezing. I think he's sane. That's his problem. Sanity. When you can pour a perfect drink and enjoy every sip, you're sane and don't even know it. He wouldn't like to hear that. But shit would I love to say it.I'm not. I am not sane. And I know he sees it. Ohhhh shit.My jaw feels broken. My head feels limp. I'm alright, I'm alright. I like it. Breathe. You're sad. And it pleases me. Oh how I feel sane at this moment. Just like him. Just like his body. His eyes. He's yummy. Oh warm me. You seem to never change with the temperature. You feel good. Just wait until you make me another drink. You have only a slice of my madness. Stop thinking you have more.


I love when she looks at me. And I love the chill she gives my spine. Only my spine. I like touching her face.She always falls right into my palm. It's so lascivious. And I feel like a fucking beast. I want to shred her open. Sample every part she has to offer. I will shelter her tonight. And we can both have our fill. A genuine fill. Close your eyes lovely. I am ready.


Oh, now he is gentle. Rough, gentle, rough, gentle. Gentle pain. I can never choose just one and that's why I'm here. His fingers are ridiculously soft. I am ready.

You never have me, lovely.

You have me only sometimes, sir.

I just give you death, lovely.

I just give you life, sir.

Then it's time.

A Magic Act

Disrupting, disgusting, and also invalid
no comprehension of why you sing to madness.
The barrel is wasted, it's filled with it's ailment
the wood is in it's deepest.. stage of rottenness..
The room you're in darkens,
and you can only tell through the cracks
and your windows start to freeze over
not even you can see your soul.
Projection of fear, and deaf to speech
it's not a wonder your hatred is all you do keep
So us others, we wonder-
where are all the chains? The locks and the steel-
you do proclaim.
Hard to know that you did it, you put yourself there.
Oh, how did you manage? With only two hands..
How does it feel?
We wish you could talk, your ghost, to the others
but your senses they grow more dim
Why, you don't even cry for you,
others have stopped too...
the worst thickening agent for this barrel would be
loneliness.
By and by, it will come.
Distraction, imagine,
no one but you... no one....but you.

Her Autumn Buffet

So the man doesn't bleed. Doesn't cry.
She does. Not only can she as quick as a blink, she loves to.
The temperature change as it slides down her chest.
It's a cold, burning wet.
She feels and understands. She's free and has sight.

He is so warm inside. Compassionate and pleasant.
His face streams with sweat from his work. He smells amazing.
She could get high from inhaling him. And be in a different land.
He isn't clueless. Probably of equal or more intelligence than her.
But he has never had her sight. And never will.

She knows that's why it's okay. She knows that's why he's perfect in her mind.
Sometimes she thinks about it. And she asks a typical now and then "Why?" to herself.
But it isn't the kind of why he, or another man would think. It's a good why.

It's her "Why?". Her way of functioning. For when she asks it, she tells herself, every time...
"He keeps me alive, shows me how to love and be loved. And that is all I need.
My past serves the rest of the courses."

And she moves on. Playing out her activities of the day. As does he.
Dinner is ready.
Her heart is black, his is white, the two are inextricable.

Just Part of my Gun Metal Sky

When disasters and accidents collide...where do I belong
In this sickness I call mine, and the dire need for
clarity, dignity, and acceptance,
give me my benevolence
hinder, hatred, sacrificed lives
find me my desired time
hope in eternity, longing in fear
where do you get off finding me here?
Putrid are the ways I find most of them work
and never it seems that there’s cleanliness for sure
distempered and horrid, so many words
my favorites come out, but just never work.
The sky remains metal, so shiny and grey,
I look to the raindrops to take me away
the ethics of them, I will never comprehend
and I know of a tingling sensation that blends
pain with the kindness, sincerity, and proof,
that masters of disasters have come for you
the eyes of honesty I never will see, f
or blindness caresses and parades with glee
someday they’ll get it but this does not mean
that their time on earth will be when it’s received
find me a succulent shelter to live
and maybe this weakness will finally give
embers and ashes, filling the wounds
oh never forget the “trivial” words.

Scottish Flower

Oh wretched souls! I long to hear my name
worthless, cold endeavors driving me to blame
Sickened with the beauty of the carefree heart
marching to the melody of nothing is your part
Finding true serenity, rapture of my mind
realizing sunflowers aging with this time
the epitome of silence combs my every hair
honesty from lips of war, arrows in the air
Garbage that I pick through, useless to my soul
ebony angels that corrupt my every move
when the light reflecting shimmer bounces of my body
I wonder who is looking, who does see the rotting.
Floating in the whispers is this non loved spirit
feeling in eternity the agony you've built
run at every corner, hide near every tree
when you find your insides, maybe you'll be free.

Happy Quiet

Quiet, hidden meaning
It finds that it does not believe
How to make it we soon will see,
For never ending silence has hidden beneath.
Does it not see how to live?
Is it bound by an un-reality?
Inevitably it shall be found,
but shall you be happy, when it is?
Quiet,seen by all It knows not how to be pleasing
How to be forever teasing
For eternity it thinks that it may keep shutting.
Don't you see it may be benign?
Is it bound by reality?
Truly to it's utmost it will be hit,
but will you be happy when it is?
Shhhh, quiet! Only quiet knows

Web Spinner

So the web is made. Finished. And oh how soft it is.
Reflective and pure.
It preys on anything smaller than itself. Smaller.
It likes to hunt at night.
Cold wind. Haunted trees. Flowing river.
Behind the rocks it waits
Sending the song of a widow to my mind.
The cries are unbearable, disturbing, silent.
I wait and listen.
How proper it seems under these circumstances
to hold your breath...close your eyes.
When you know what is to come.
You hear it every day, hear it every night.
And still you do nothing.
You know to do nothing.
She swirls wonders around the bee.
A beautiful dirty. A wondrous scream.
And again she saved me.
From the blistering sting.
The deadly aftermath that could have been.
A kill for a kill.
I can now sleep.
I can remain safe for another day.
I can see the moon again.
My pay is given in the morning
My pollen lures the bees
Her food, my fight.
So I
shall always...do nothing.