I suddenly felt very cold. The small room felt like it had an AC unit on the fritz. Massages always made me slightly uncomfortable. Just something about being mostly naked with a stranger touching me gave me the heebies. But admittedly, I could barely walk, feeling like an old man with too much back pain. Just waiting there face down with nothing but a towel covering my butt felt awkward as hell.

I heard the door slide open followed by a bunch of noises emanating from that direction. Noises, I can only parse as kissing smooches followed by a cartoon rendition of a bubble popping.

That's not what I wanted to hear nearly naked on an alien massage table. The sound came closer and became more frequent. It was freaking me out. I hazarded a glance up from the face hole to see a creature the size of a gorilla filling up the room with tentacles like a damn Cthulhu monster. Each tentacle was brimming with saucer-like suckers, way too many to count. It's face was like someone enlarged a catfish, painted it saturated purple, stretched it's lips a foot out from it's eyes, then gave it way too much lip enlargement plastic surgery. It was the perfect cross between a duck face selfie and that look you get when you have way too much sour candy.

It's comically long mouth smacked making the kissing sounds which I could only imagine it was trying to speak to me about how I was about to be it's lunch.

It came closer, it's lower tentacles squashing and popping as it snaked forward.

I shrieked and tried to launch myself off the bed, jostling the small wheels across the tile like floor with a squeak. But immediately, to my horror, two tentacles shot out from its mass and stuck to my upper back. It expertly slammed me back down into place. I just barely had time to tuck my chin to avoid jamming my nose in on the edge of the bed's face gap.

"Holy shit... I'm going to get eaten by this horror fest."

A few of it's tentacles pressed on my back so hard I thought it was going to crack a rib. It felt like enormous slimy spaghetti noodles and mini toilet plungers squirming around my back and upper arms. My body shuddered in disgust.

It smelled like fish that had been rotting in the garbage bin for a week. A light ooze dribbled down my sides.

The kissing sounds stopped.

I cocked my head up as much as I could to try to reason with it.

"Look I can't understand you, I don't know what you..."

One big kissing sound rang around the room.

More tentacles dropped down on different parts of my back, suckers sticking to me like super glue, and they began undulating. The up and down motion caused more pressure with each motion. It felt like it was trying to exercise my soul out through my spine. I wheezed. The air was forced from my lungs over and over like I was a damn human bagpipe.

My hands scrambled for anything I could use as a weapon. I had to get this thing off me and escape. My vision blurred washed with waves of darkness.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

"Oh..."

My back and shoulders popped as loud as fireworks during the finale of the fourth of July.

The alien thing took the pressure off me. I looked up too stunned to move still. It pushed in a panel on the wall and rolled out a large towel from a hidden compartment. Then laid it on the foot of the bed. It looked at me for a moment through it's beady fish eyes and paused.

"Uh, thank you I guess."

I sat up slowly and turned to facing it, making sure to keep my butt towel covering me. The ooze snailed down to my lower back.

I quickly grabbed the big towel, and started drying myself off. It was heated and immediately warmed me up from the chilled room.

The creature blinked, and made two more kissing sounds. It then slithered backwards until the sliding door opened with a hiss behind it, and it disappeared down a bustling hallway. I reared my arms to my hips and flexed my back with no pain.

"Oh, hell ya. Despite the near-death fright of my life, I'd totally give this place a solid four stars."

The Sisters

September 14, 2024

I’ve had two loves in my life

Both were sisters

Both were wrong for me

But that did not stop me from loving both

Not at the same time

The first one was twelve years older than me

The second one was six years younger

They could not have been any more different

Serious, brunette, business minded

Carefree, blonde, spontaneous

The characterization fit the stereotype

And I was on the outside looking in

Time to choose

One sister

One choice

Forever

I’ve had two loves in my life

Both were sisters

Both were wrong for me

Or, perhaps I was wrong for the both

Maria Hernandez's alarm blared at 4:30 AM, its harsh tones cutting through the thin walls of her studio apartment. She silenced it quickly, not wanting to wake her 8-year-old daughter, Sofia, who slept on a pull-out couch just a few feet away. In the dim light filtering through the cheap blinds, Maria could make out Sofia's peaceful face, blissfully unaware of the struggles that awaited her mother in the coming day.

With practiced silence, Maria slipped out of bed and into the tiny bathroom. The mirror reflected a woman who looked older than her 32 years - dark circles under her eyes, worry lines etched deeply into her forehead. She splashed cold water on her face, the shock helping to chase away the last vestiges of sleep. There was no time for a proper shower; the hot water was temperamental at best, and she couldn't risk waking Sofia.

As she dressed in her waitress uniform - a polyester dress that had seen better days and sensible shoes that did little to ease the constant ache in her feet - Maria's mind raced through the day ahead. First shift at the diner from 6 AM to 2 PM, then a quick change before heading to her evening job as a cleaner at a local office building. If she was lucky, she'd be home by 10 PM, just in time to help Sofia with any last-minute homework before collapsing into bed to start the cycle all over again.

The kitchen, such as it was, consisted of a mini-fridge, a hot plate, and a microwave balanced precariously on a wobbly table. Maria opened the fridge, wincing at its near-empty state. She made a mental note to stop by the food bank after her shift at the diner. Pulling out the last of the milk, she poured it over the remnants of a box of generic cereal for Sofia's breakfast.

As she sipped a cup of instant coffee - a luxury she allowed herself only to stay alert during her long days - Maria's eyes fell on the pile of bills on the counter. The red "FINAL NOTICE" stamp on the electricity bill sent a jolt of anxiety through her already frayed nerves. She had been juggling payments, robbing Peter to pay Paul, but it was becoming increasingly clear that she was fighting a losing battle.

At 5:15 AM, Maria leaned over Sofia, gently shaking her awake. "Time to get up, mija," she whispered, her heart aching at having to rouse her daughter at such an early hour. But there was no choice; Mrs. Guzman next door, who watched Sofia before school, wouldn't be awake until 6:30, and Maria couldn't afford to be late for her shift.

Sofia stirred, her eyes blinking open reluctantly. "Mama? Is it time already?"

Maria forced a smile, smoothing Sofia's hair back from her forehead. "Yes, honey. Remember, you're going to Mrs. Guzman's this morning. I left your breakfast on the table. Be good, okay?"

Sofia nodded sleepily, already used to this routine despite her young age. As Maria gathered her things, she watched Sofia shuffle to the table, a pang of guilt stabbing through her. This wasn't the life she had envisioned for her daughter.

The pre-dawn air was crisp as Maria hurried to the bus stop. She couldn't afford a car, and even if she could, the insurance and maintenance would be beyond her means. The bus was often late and always crowded, but it was her lifeline to employment.

As she waited, Maria noticed a young man in a suit stride past, climbing into a shiny new car. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine a different life - one where she didn't have to count every penny, where Sofia could have her own room, where they could go to the movies or out for ice cream without it being a rare, budget-breaking treat. The fantasy dissolved as quickly as it had formed. There was no use in daydreaming.

The diner was already bustling when Maria arrived, slipping in through the back door and donning her apron. The smell of grease and coffee filled the air, mingling with the chatter of the early morning crowd - mostly blue-collar workers grabbing a quick bite before their shifts.

"You're late, Hernandez," barked Frank, the manager, as Maria rushed to clock in. She glanced at the time clock - 5:58 AM. Her heart sank; she knew what was coming. "That's the third time this month. One more and I'll have to dock your pay."

Maria bit back a retort. She couldn't afford to lose this job, no matter how unfair Frank's treatment was. Instead, she nodded meekly and hurried out to the floor, plastering on a smile for her first customers of the day.

The morning rush was always a blur of coffee refills, orders shouted to the kitchen, and the constant dance of avoiding collisions with other waitresses in the narrow spaces between tables. Maria moved efficiently, her body on autopilot after years of practice. But her mind was elsewhere, calculating and recalculating her finances.

If she skipped lunch for the next week, maybe she could stretch the grocery money a little further. Sofia's shoes were falling apart, but perhaps they could last another month. The electricity bill couldn't wait, but maybe she could negotiate a payment plan for the rent. Round and round the thoughts went, a never-ending cycle of robbing Peter to pay Paul.

As she refilled the coffee of a regular - an older man named Joe who always tipped generously despite his own modest means - Maria overheard a conversation that made her pause.

"Did you hear?" one patron was saying to another. "They're raising the bus fares again next month. Another 50 cents each way."

Maria's hand trembled slightly as she set down the coffee pot. Another dollar a day might not seem like much to some, but to her, it was catastrophic. That was $20 a month - money she simply didn't have. Walking was out of the question; the diner was five miles from her apartment, and the office building where she cleaned was even further.

The rest of her shift passed in a haze of worry. By the time 2 PM rolled around, Maria's feet were throbbing, and her back ached from hours of bending and lifting. But there was no time to rest. She changed quickly in the cramped employee bathroom, trading her waitress uniform for the plain shirt and pants required for her cleaning job.

The bus ride to the office building was crowded and hot, the air conditioning long since broken. Maria squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the press of bodies and the nagging headache that had been building all day. She allowed herself a moment of weakness, a single tear escaping down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped it away. There was no time for self-pity.

The office building loomed large and impersonal, its gleaming windows a stark contrast to the run-down neighborhood that surrounded it. Maria badged in with the other cleaners, most of whom she knew only by sight. There was little time for socializing in this job; they were expected to work quickly and efficiently, invisible to the office workers who stayed late.

As she pushed her cart from office to office, emptying trash cans and wiping down surfaces, Maria's mind wandered to Sofia. Was she doing her homework? Had she remembered to eat the leftovers Maria had carefully portioned out for her dinner? The constant worry was like a physical presence, sitting heavy on her chest.

It was in the executive suite on the top floor that Maria's already difficult day took a turn for the worse. As she was carefully dusting the expensive artwork that adorned the walls, her elbow accidentally knocked against a small sculpture. Time seemed to slow as she watched it topple, hitting the hardwood floor with a sickening crack.

Maria's heart pounded as she knelt to examine the damage. A small chip had broken off one corner of the base. To her eyes, it was barely noticeable, but she knew the executives who worked here noticed everything.

"What was that noise?" a sharp voice demanded. Maria looked up to see one of the executives - a woman in an immaculate suit who she recognized as a vice president - standing in the doorway.

"I'm so sorry," Maria began, her voice shaking. "It was an accident. I'll pay for it, I promise."

The woman's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. "Do you have any idea how much that sculpture costs? More than you make in a year, I'd wager."

Maria felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn't afford to replace the sculpture, but she also couldn't afford to lose this job. "Please," she said, hating the desperation in her voice. "I have a daughter. I need this job."

The woman's expression softened slightly, but her voice remained firm. "I won't report this to your supervisor, but I expect to see you personally cleaning this office every night to ensure nothing like this happens again. Understood?"

Maria nodded quickly, relief washing over her. It would mean staying later, getting home even later to Sofia, but it was better than losing the job entirely.

The rest of her shift passed in a fog of anxiety and exhaustion. By the time Maria clocked out at 9:30 PM, her body ached all over, and her eyes burned with fatigue. The bus ride home was a battle against sleep, her head nodding forward only to jerk back up at each stop.

It was nearly 11 PM when Maria finally unlocked the door to her apartment. Sofia was asleep on the pull-out couch, her math homework spread out around her. Maria's heart clenched at the sight. She had promised to help Sofia with her fractions, but once again, work had gotten in the way.

As she collapsed onto her own bed, still in her work clothes, Maria allowed the tears she had been holding back all day to finally fall. Silent sobs shook her body as she thought about the endless cycle of work and worry, the constant struggle just to keep her head above water.

But even in her despair, Maria knew she couldn't give up. Sofia needed her to be strong, to keep fighting. And so, as she had done every night for years, Maria set her alarm for 4:30 AM and prayed for the strength to face another day.

The next morning dawned much like the one before, but with an added layer of tension. As Maria went through her usual routine, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to give. The precarious balance she had been maintaining for so long felt more fragile than ever.

At the diner, Frank was in an especially foul mood. The ancient air conditioning unit had finally given up the ghost, leaving the kitchen sweltering and the customers irritable. Maria moved as quickly as she could, trying to appease the complaining patrons while dodging Frank's critical glare.

It was during the lunch rush that disaster struck. As Maria hurried to deliver a tray of dishes to a table, her foot caught on a loose tile. She stumbled, the tray slipping from her hands and crashing to the floor in a cacophony of breaking dishes and spilled food.

The diner fell silent for a moment before erupting into a mix of concerned murmurs and annoyed grumbles. Maria stood frozen, staring at the mess at her feet, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

Frank's voice cut through the chaos like a whip. "Hernandez! My office, now!"

With shaking hands, Maria began to clean up the mess, but Frank's voice brooked no argument. "Leave it. Johnson can clean it up. I said, my office."

The walk to Frank's tiny office in the back of the diner felt like a march to the gallows. Maria's mind raced, trying to find the words to convince him not to fire her. She couldn't lose this job. She just couldn't.

Frank didn't even wait for her to sit down before he started in on her. "This is the last straw, Hernandez. Late arrivals, broken dishes, complaints about slow service. I run a business here, not a charity."

"Please, Mr. Frank," Maria began, hating the pleading tone in her voice. "It won't happen again. I need this job. My daughter-"

Frank held up a hand, cutting her off. "Save it. I've heard it all before. I'm not firing you - yet. But I'm cutting your hours. You'll work the morning shift only, four days a week instead of six. Maybe that'll give you time to get your act together."

Maria felt as if the floor had dropped out from under her. The cut in hours would be devastating to her already strained budget. But she knew arguing would only make things worse. With a heavy heart, she nodded and mumbled a thank you before fleeing the office.

The rest of her shift passed in a daze. As she hung up her apron at 2 PM, the reality of her situation began to sink in. With reduced hours at the diner, she would have to find another part-time job to make up the difference. But when? Her cleaning job took up her evenings, and now she'd have two full days where she wasn't working at the diner. Two days without pay, but also without childcare for Sofia.

As she waited for the bus to take her to her cleaning job, Maria's mind raced through her options. She could ask Mrs. Guzman to watch Sofia for a few more hours, but the kindly neighbor was already doing so much for far less than a professional sitter would charge. She could look for a weekend job, but that would mean never seeing Sofia awake.

The cleaning job that night was even more grueling than usual. True to her word, the executive had Maria spend extra time in the suite with the chipped sculpture, scrutinizing her work with a critical eye. By the time she finished, it was well past her usual end time.

Maria's feet dragged as she climbed the stairs to her apartment, the elevator being out of service yet again. She opened the door to find Sofia still awake, her young face creased with worry.

"Mama!" Sofia exclaimed, jumping up from the couch. "I was scared. You're never this late."

Maria's heart broke at the fear in her daughter's voice. She gathered Sofia into her arms, holding her tight. "I'm so sorry, mija. Work ran late. It won't happen again, I promise."

But even as the words left her mouth, Maria knew it was a promise she might not be able to keep. With her hours cut at the diner and the pressure to work later at the cleaning job, late nights might become the new normal.

That night, after Sofia had finally fallen asleep, Maria sat at their small table, a pile of bills and a nearly empty bank book spread out before her. The numbers didn't lie. With her reduced hours, they would be short on rent this month. The electricity bill was already overdue, and Sofia needed new shoes for school.

For a moment, Maria allowed herself to consider options she had always sworn she would never resort to. There was a payday loan place down the street that promised quick cash. Or she could try to find under-the-table work, maybe cleaning houses on her days off from the diner. The thought of working seven days a week made her body ache, but what choice did she have?

As the night wore on, Maria made call after call, trying to negotiate payment plans, beg for extensions, find any way to stretch her meager resources just a little further. By the time she crawled into bed, the sky was already lightening with the first hints of dawn.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of constant work and worry. Maria picked up a few hours helping a local family with their housecleaning on her days off from the diner, but it was nowhere near enough to make up for the lost income. She cut corners wherever she could - watering down the milk to make it last longer, walking part of the way to work to save on bus fare, going to bed hungry so that Sofia could have a full meal.

But despite her best efforts, the bills continued to pile up. The landlord was becoming increasingly impatient with her late rent payments, and the threat of eviction loomed large. Sofia's teacher had sent home a note about her need for new school supplies, a cost Maria simply couldn't cover.

It was on a particularly difficult day, after being yelled at by an irate customer at the diner and receiving yet another late notice in the mail, that Maria found herself at the entrance to the payday loan store. The garish signs promising fast cash and easy approval seemed to mock her desperation.

With a deep breath, Maria stepped inside. The process was quick and painless, the employee behind the counter barely looking at her as she signed away her next paycheck in exchange for enough cash to cover this month's rent and Sofia's school supplies.

As she left the store, cash in hand, Maria felt a momentary sense of relief. But it was quickly overshadowed by a deep sense of dread. She knew the exorbitant interest rates would only dig her deeper into the hole of debt, but what choice did she have?

Weeks turned into months, and Maria's situation showed no signs of improving. The payday loan had turned into a vicious cycle, each paycheck already spoken for before she even received it. She picked up more cleaning

Perched on the edge of a picnic basket, Crunchy and Crisp gazed out at the vast expanse of green that stretched before them. The two croutons, golden-brown and perfectly cubic, had never ventured beyond the confines of their plastic bag. But today was different. Today, they were embarking on what would surely be the greatest adventure of their short, toasted lives.

"Are you sure about this, Crunchy?" Crisp asked, his voice quavering like a piece of lettuce in a light breeze. "What if we get... you know... wet?" He whispered the last word as if it were a curse.

Crunchy puffed up his already square chest. "Don't be such a soggy square, Crisp! This is our chance to see the world beyond the bag. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

Crisp's imagination immediately supplied a montage of horror: rain, soup, salad dressing. He shuddered, sending a shower of breadcrumbs cascading down the picnic basket's wicker side. "We could get mushy," he muttered.

"Well, we could also stay in this basket forever and never know what it truly means to live," Crunchy retorted. "Now, are you coming or not?"

With a resigned sigh that sounded like the crackle of toasting bread, Crisp nodded. "Fine. But if I start to lose my crunch, I'm turning back."

And so, with a shared look of determination, the two croutons began their descent. They hopped from the edge of the basket, bouncing off a checkered napkin, and landed with a soft 'poof' on the grassy ground below.

The blades of grass towered over them like a forest of green giants. Crunchy and Crisp exchanged glances, a mix of excitement and trepidation reflected in their sesame seed eyes.

"Well, we're down," Crisp said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the tremor in his voice. "Which way do we go?"

Crunchy swiveled around, taking in the 360-degree view of their grassy surroundings. After a moment of contemplation, he pointed with a crisp edge. "That way. Towards the sun. If we keep it on our right, we'll always know which direction we're heading."

As they set off on their journey, the two croutons fell into a rhythm, hopping from one blade of grass to another. Their square shapes made the going tough, but they persevered, driven by a mixture of curiosity and stubbornness.

"You know, Crisp," Crunchy said as they paused for a breather atop a particularly springy dandelion leaf, "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," Crisp quipped, but there was no real bite to his words. He was too busy marveling at the way the sunlight filtered through the translucent green of the leaf above them.

Crunchy ignored the jab. "What does it mean to be alive? I mean, really alive?"

Crisp turned to his friend, surprise evident in the slight raising of his golden-brown edges. "That's quite the philosophical question for a crouton on a hike."

"Well, we've got time," Crunchy replied, gesturing at the vast expanse of lawn still ahead of them. "And it's not like we have much else to do while we hop along."

Crisp considered this for a moment. "I suppose being alive means... existing? We exist, therefore we're alive."

Crunchy shook his head, sending a few errant crumbs flying. "That's too simple. A rock exists, but we wouldn't say it's alive, would we?"

"Fair point," Crisp conceded. "Maybe it's about change then? We started as dough, became bread, and then were cut and toasted into croutons. We've changed, we're changing even now as we move and think."

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Crunchy exclaimed, his excitement causing him to wobble precariously on the edge of the leaf. "But is change enough? Don't we need purpose too?"

As they continued their journey, hopping from leaf to twig to pebble, their philosophical discussion deepened. They debated consciousness, free will, and the nature of existence itself. All the while, the sun traced its arc across the sky, casting long shadows as afternoon faded into evening.

It was Crisp who first noticed the change in the air. A damp heaviness that made his corners curl ever so slightly. "Crunchy," he said, interrupting his friend's discourse on the meaning of flavor, "I think we might have a problem."

Crunchy paused, his train of thought derailed. He looked up at the sky, noting the gathering clouds with growing alarm. "Oh crumbs," he muttered.

The first droplet fell like a bomb, exploding on the ground mere inches from where they stood. Crisp let out a yelp that sounded like a stale baguette being snapped in half.

"Quick!" Crunchy shouted, already in motion. "We need to find shelter!"

They scurried as fast as their cuboid forms would allow, dodging raindrops that threatened to turn them into bread pudding with each passing second. Panic began to set in as the frequency of the drops increased.

"There!" Crisp suddenly exclaimed, pointing towards a small opening at the base of a nearby tree. "A hole!"

Without hesitation, they made a beeline for the tree, diving into the hole just as the skies opened up in earnest. Inside, they found themselves in a small, dry cavity, perfectly sized for two weary croutons.

As the sound of rain pattered above them, Crunchy and Crisp leaned against each other, panting from their narrow escape.

"Well," Crisp said after catching his breath, "I guess this answers your question about what it means to be alive."

Crunchy turned to his friend, confusion evident in the furrow of his crust. "How so?"

"It's about survival," Crisp explained. "The will to keep going, to stay dry and crunchy in a world that wants to turn you to mush. That's what being alive means."

Crunchy pondered this for a moment, then slowly nodded. "You might be onto something there, my friend. But I think there's more to it than just survival."

As the rain continued to fall outside their cozy hideaway, the two croutons resumed their philosophical discussion. They talked about the thrill of adventure, the joy of discovery, and the bonds of friendship. They debated the merits of staying safe in a bag versus risking it all for a taste of the wider world.

Hours passed, and eventually, the rain tapered off. A beam of sunlight pierced through the entrance of their temporary home, beckoning them back out into the world.

"What do you say, Crisp?" Crunchy asked, a glint of excitement in his sesame seed eyes. "Shall we continue our adventure?"

Crisp hesitated for a moment, then squared his shoulders. "You know what? I think we shall. After all, we've come this far. It would be a shame to turn back now."

And so, with renewed vigor and a deeper appreciation for both life and each other, Crunchy and Crisp emerged from their shelter. The world around them glistened with raindrops, each one a tiny mirror reflecting the beauty of their surroundings.

As they set off once more, hopping from one rain-slicked blade of grass to another, they realized something profound. Their journey, with all its perils and philosophical ponderings, had changed them. They were no longer just two croutons on a hike. They were explorers, philosophers, and most importantly, friends.

The sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Crunchy and Crisp found themselves atop a small hill, overlooking the vast expanse they had traversed.

"You know, Crunchy," Crisp said, his voice soft with wonder, "I think I finally understand what it means to be alive."

Crunchy turned to his friend, curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell."

"It's all of it," Crisp explained, gesturing with a crisp edge at the world around them. "The fear and the excitement, the discussions and the silences, the rain and the sunshine. Being alive is about experiencing it all, about being changed by those experiences, and about sharing them with someone who matters."

Crunchy nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his golden-brown surface. "I couldn't have said it better myself, my friend."

As the last rays of sunlight painted the sky, Crunchy and Crisp made a decision. They had seen the world, faced their fears, and discovered truths about themselves and the nature of existence. It was time to return home.

Their journey back was filled with laughter and reminiscence. They retraced their steps, marveling at how different everything looked from their new perspective. The blades of grass that had once seemed like insurmountable obstacles now felt like old friends, guiding them home.

As they approached the picnic basket, they could hear the muffled voices of their fellow croutons, no doubt wondering where they had disappeared to. Crunchy and Crisp exchanged a knowing glance. They had stories to tell, philosophies to share, and a newfound appreciation for the life of a crouton.

With one final hop, they landed back in their bag, much to the astonishment of their cuboid comrades. As they settled in, surrounded by the familiar rustle of plastic, Crunchy turned to Crisp.

"You know," he said with a wink, "I think we might have just become the most interesting croutons in this entire salad."

Crisp chuckled, a sound like the gentle crunching of autumn leaves. "Indeed we have, my friend. Indeed we have."

And as the picnic basket was lifted and their world began to move once more, Crunchy and Crisp knew that wherever they ended up – be it in a crisp salad or a warm soup – they would face it together, with the wisdom and courage born from their crumby odyssey.

For they had learned the most important lesson of all: life, in all its forms, is an adventure worth savoring, one crispy bite at a time.

Cogito

in my left ventricle

I built up a little

alter...

Ergo,

it said in Latin

upon it

love will lie here

for slaughter

It will be sacrificed

and if not forgiven

all will surely be forgotten

I will keep it

in this cage

Beating

and it will

serve me

right,

in Sum...

And escaping

wax winged lit

in hopeful prayer

the likeness of god

will tumble

To its chamber, back

where I think I am

its keeper

and it, the

worshiper

2024 SEP 08

badass butterflies

besiege my vernal sweetness

my rage unheeded

... ... ... ... ...

9/8/2024

Come ride the intestine to love tonight...

Commit to the dubious train!...

Come slip 'til by night you are

Hung by the gallows...

When you hear a loud snap,

And your heads in your lap

You will comprehend prices, and measure

Your vices,

But first let the phantoms,

And brutes you've denied

Slide down through your chimney...

All the notions you've spied

From a side glance,

And wondered underneath a long veil

If you felt a slight trembling

While the storm winds assailed

Your well made constructions

Of glass, and fit frame...

Come ride the intestine to love as you please...

There are trials to vet,

And dimensions to seize...

While the world goes to Hell

In a tumult of guile

Led by talking head tantrums, and decrepit bile

From the mouthpiece of lackeys who lead us astray

With political motives that diffuse

Day by day

Depending on what is the newest blind fad...

Come flee from the foray

Before you've been had!...

Come ride the intestine to love tonight...

Commit to the dubious train!...

Make mincemeat of motive,

And sweep your wet tongue!...

Jump out of the forecast

Before tales are spun!...

They can't pin you down if you duck from

Their brace!...

Come slide out of focus!...

Nosedive and give chase!...

9/2/24

Bunny Villaire

The fire flickers like tender licks on your skin, and I try to remember to look away.

I try not to linger on your pink lips, or how your smile forms. I try to avoid staring into your eyes, darkened by night, but bright with something innocent and innocuous.

I think I say something right, because you laugh and it sticks like honeycomb to my teeth. I wonder how I can draw more out. How long I can prod and twist the same joke to make you giggle, a hiccup of joy in my constant dark. But you say you know my tells before I’m about to say something that’ll make you jump. Because I look away, and I smile, and I never met someone who can read me so quickly. Can unwind my spindling idiocy to find the truth.

I can’t stop the smile forming on my own face when you tell me I’m good- like being praised by a teacher when you were overcasted by a system of derelicts.

I want to hold you and never let anything bad get you, when you tell me something that shouldn’t have ever happened to you. It makes something ugly slither into my stomach and sit like a bloated slug, but I try to abate it by knowing you’re safe now. Because I’m near, and I can protect you. I can’t imagine hurting you, even as I know I’m acting like an unneeded guard at vigil.

I try to draw my attention away when I know I’m staring too long. Staring with such open adoration, I’m surprised you can’t see it. My eyes want to follow you. Want to memorize every emotion that make up your portraiture. Want to linger, and touch the pulse in your wrist like it may convince me an angel walks among us.

I pick at the table around the fire, and it only further flushes my blush. I glance the warmth in your cheeks, a smattering of colour, and I can’t look away. It sits above your jaw, warm and inviting. You tell me you’re cold and I brush your hands and arms, and you are ever so soft. I’d let you siphon every drop of warmth from me if it helped soothe the chill for even a moment. If it would make you feel comfortable.

You say my name, and oh, I’ve never heard it like that. Like an utterance of a prayer, or a riff in a melody. I’ve never thought my name pretty. But you make it sound poetic, nearly, in every flickering syllable, all strung together in the palms on your face when I say something that frightens you.

I want to lean closer. I don’t. I force my body to position away from you just so I don’t do something stupid like brush wayward gold from your azure turned cornflower eyes.

When I’m home, the heaven I experienced is bereft and I’m left trembling cold, though I know I run hot. I’m shaky and weak, and it must be a side effect from leaving your side.

I want to know everything and anything and it’s never enough. I want to drink from your mind like a well of knowledge.

You tell me with a particular glint I can’t place that im not bad. That I can’t fool you. I may be a tortured artist, but I am good, too.

I look at the fire, and wonder if it knows how lucky it is to kiss your smooth skin. To brush your freckles, and freely embrace you.

How is one led astray?

You cannot be led astray, to an extent. I’d like to believe I was. But I chose this life.

I chose to be deceitful, mean, callous. Chose to slot away my dreams and ambitions for liquor and tobacco. Chose to lay those kind beneath the rails for the conductor with a silver tongue. That is me.

Another two empty orange bottles on my nightstand, another belly plumped with liquor. My mouth is constantly sour, my lungs constantly aching, heart rapid in its cage.

Hate. Ache. It’s all the same in the end. It feels the same. It lingers, at least. An emptiness that swallows whatever it can.

I feel the joy, and it slips right into the maw of the beast. The beast is me, though. It files the happiness into the same hazy thing where dreams live.

My fingertips, should I have a typewriter like I wish, would ache from my incessant typing.

I am poor. I am hurt. I am in debt. I am so sick. I am so tired. I am so hungry.

Mental hell, what I have.