I am Laughable Night

So now that you have a picture of me. Let me take a picture of you. Let me burn this photograph and open my hand, then the wind will swallow you up and I will forget you. There is no point in knowing you, because only I am important. Only I have the story to tell that will shake the ground and open up the star’s guts. Everything else remains as a fading reflection of what is not. Now, please, listen to my suicide; the slow walk down pavement with the sun fighting through trees and then crashing back down. Take note of it. Be aware. Eat my sorrow and drink my pain.


The Routines

The skin wrapped around Ava’s weak bones was milky, but in a crusty milk way. Her nails were clipped by a nurse but could have easily been broken by light pressure. Those paper-thin nails were attached to the withered skin, which surround the saving grace of Ava’s outward appearance—her eyes. A solemn green, like that of a rose’s stem, mixed with shards of sharp silver. They entranced even now, being held in hammocks of purple and blue sagged skin. Her gaze was still steady and strong, and just looking at those eyes would make you a gambler, one that bets on the full recovery of a small cell lung cancer patient. Yet Mr. Remarque knew much better, and he was not a betting man.


Married by Blood & Dirt

Catching the season’s breeze on his face and through his hair, Nick chuckled as he remember Mandy’s last words after he told her to get out of his house: “Well, if there is anything you want later, just, you know, let me know.” He even remembered the embarrassed look of defeat on poor, intelligent Mandy’s face, the one that mistakenly showed her true hurt while the body tried to remain cool and composed after being so coldly treated by Nick. Still swinging, Nick smiled brightly for overcoming another challenge in another one of his games.