Isn't most of life a matter of perspective? For example, for some a good, firm spanking is a reasonable punishment for bad behavior. For others a good, firm spanking is a reasonable reward and the perfect way to end a Saturday night.

Do grizzly bears see camping tents the way we see the plastic wrapper on a microwavable burrito? Oh sure they can be a bit of a pain to open, but the warm, high calorie yumminess on the inside is worth the trouble. Although there is one small drawback. No one ever includes a packet of Tapatio sauce inside the package to add a little spiciness to the overall eating experience.

Has anyone actually seen someone buy one of the 5 pound fruitcake bricks sold at Costco during the holidays? I've always imagined that after the holidays they get shipped by the ton to small developing countries to be used as hurricane proof building materials.

Why don't funeral homes offer funny t shirts as a clothing option for the deceased? For example:

-Wanna See My Stiffy?

-Yesterday Was The Last Day Of The Rest Of My Life

-AHHHHH WHO DECOMPOSED? Somebody Light A Fucking Match!

I've Been To The Mortuary, Was Embalmed, And All I Got Was This Lousy Fucking T Shirt

-I Left My Entire Fortune To My Favorite High Priced Prostitute

-My Last Wish Is That During Cremation, Blue Oyster Cult's, "I'm Burning For You" Gets Played In The Background For Mood Music.

Travel Tip: The only music stations you get on the highway to hell play nonstop country music and at the end of every off ramp is a Walmart, Taco Bell, and your in-law's house.

Why do they call it Social Media when it makes me want to fake my own death, move to a small hut in the forest, and disappear from society in favor of making friends with woodland creatures?

Those who claim to be Christians...Have they READ their instruction manual? Because from what I've seen they collectively missed all those chapters on loving their neighbors, not judging, and giving to those in need.

Should I keep what I'd do for a Klondike Bar to myself because I think it could result in criminal prosecution?

Is it just me or are the most incapable, stupid, completely devoid of common sense, and most given to fucking things up for everyone people the most fertile?

Lately your scent has been following me,

lingering when I need it the least.

Your smile haunts my dreams,

making me happy in ways I can't describe-

until I wake up.

I thought the dreams of you were gone for good,

that the images of the two of us

would stop flashing in my mind,

teasing me about what could have been.

I thought I was done missing you.

I wasn't.

Whether if my mirror is broken

I'll be on my way today...

I've got roads that I have chosen...

Got the choices I have made...

One can't let a ploy like distance

Throw no gum into their gears...

You're my moon through crooked branches...

You're the silent lake so clear...

I think you know that this will not end

With no negligent goodbye...

For forever we float o'r trees

Tickling clouds undersides...

Whether if my mirror is broken

I'll be on my way today...

I've got roads that I have chosen...

Got the choices I have made...

Either buried in a pine box,

Or court ordered doctor's care...

I will sever all resistance

'til free spirits breathe this air...

You can hedge your bets on bondage...

Or gain footing on this beam...

I've been tunneling through plaster...

Since they grabbed me at the scene...

Whether if my mirror is broken

I'll be on my way today...

I've got roads that I have chosen...

Got the choices I have made...

10/12/24

Bunny Villaire

Edit #2

I have a circus in my head that makes me want to scream

I see a ringleader who tells me what I want to be

I have a voice inside my head that makes me want to bleed

I have a friend who keeps telling me that I should just be me

I have a criminal attraction to these false beliefs

I have a tendency to sin and always listening

I have a strange desire to eat less and barely sleep

I own a dirty journal where I write my memories

I'm obsessed when I get uncontrollably depressed

I'm depressed when I'm exposed to uncontrollable stress

I'm stressed when I hear life-questioning threats

I have threats that I've given to all my regrets

I try to piece back together my already fractured life

Try to be the person they want and indirectly spite

Try to live up to expectations; even though they're too high

I need to be happy; I can't keep living this life.

I’m the worrier.

I can’t stand the ticking of clocks, so I don’t own them. The digital numbers on my oven tick at me, regardless.

“What am I gonna do?”

How can I teach a thirteen-year-old girl. My ex-wife convinces her to leave school, and I’m the one left worrying.

That’s unfair,” I admit to my notebook.

We both care about our daughter’s future. I just fret more. How will she make friends? Can I learn Japanese and teach it effectively? Will she get it?

More swimming trips though, and better school dinners.

I sigh.

“I’m gonna ruin her life.”

Tiny, frail hands–what’s left of a teen–push a few cold peas about her plate. The hot sweet scent of steamed vegetables assaults her senses. She quietly weeps and looks to her right. “Are you sure?”

A desperate, breathy whisper.

There is no response. It’s not ‘normal’ to respond to the same request over and over and over. She pushes a diversionary pea off the edge of her plate and a gentle hand on her shoulder prompts her to retrieve it. Reaching over the plate, she brings it back, letting her sleeve brush another pea into her lap. She gently parts her legs and lets it silently roll to the floor, where she meticulously crushes it into the soles of her Doc Martens. She keeps her face carefully blank.

A soft squeeze at her shoulder and a nod towards her hand prompts her once again. Her eyes widen, pupils dilate, and she looks to her right. “Are you sure?”

Post-meal support was an hour-long intrusion on her day. A pyroclastic rage was building inside her and reached for arguments, responses, or answers to those responses, her focus consumed by the branching paths. She jumped when she felt a steadying hand on her twitching knee. The touch, yanking her back into the room, suddenly aware of the conversation and television banter that had been filling the space.

“I would be too scared to go to the beach.”

She put her anger away for a moment. “Really? I love the beach!” Her voice is a masterful performance of prim and practiced joy.

Across the room, a senior, Piper, turned from her perch on the arm of the sofa. Piper was a force of nature and her excitable voice, practiced but not feigned, broke out across the room. “You’ve said that before! You should learn to drive whilst you’re here?”

“Could I do that?”

“Why not?” Piper leaned forward conspiratorially. “See, that would be real control.”

They shared a look over that last word.

Muffled laughter works its way through the unit, infiltrating the kitchen from the floor above. A man, not with his family for Christmas, fills colourful bowls with pretzels and mince pies. He carries them upstairs and stands outside the door, then holds a breath, waiting for the right moment. Hearing a scandalously constructed response hit its mark, he shoulders the door and enters to laughter. The girls’ glances landed on the tray in his hands. He noticed and keeps them off-guard with a comment.

“Did I seriously just hear that?!”

He sets the bowls down, markedly ignoring them as he jokes and feigns incredulity.

“You should play!” One of the girls calls out and a chorus of agreement spreads around the room.

“Pfft! I’m a professional.”

“You have glitter in your eyebrows!”

“Fair point! Deal me in!”

As they play, he notices a hand reach, absent-minded, for a pretzel. It is eaten unaware. An intense, prideful heat flares behind his eyes, and he tamps it down discretely.

We had lightning in a bottle

Bolts struck twice and we caught both

Then you eased up on the throttle

Broken heart and broken oath

From breaking hearts to braking hard

From slowing down to stopping

Jarred lightning let loose left love charred

Storm of tears has left me sopping

If I had a singing voice

I’d use the thing nonstop

To bring an end to all your tears

If they should start to drop

If I was good at artsy stuff

I’d paint and draw just you

So you could see your beauty

In the way I always do

If I was a better writer

I’d send this to make you smile

Sadly, you won’t read it

Just another on the pile

everything is so volatile

in this halfway house

where we push and shove

until the plaster collapses.

you shoot up your veins

and i finger the needle

after you fling it away,

toeing the line between

wanting to puncture you throat

and lick the rust clean.

do you even see me?

between the hot flashes

and raging calamities,

do you see me as i am?

could i ever see you as you are?

could i ever see you as you were?

i pull you towards me at night

on the air mattress

where you lost your virginity

for the cheapest high of your life.

i retreat into the familiar fantasy

of a time

where your mistress never existed;

a time where i never had to share you

with this concubine of catastrophe.

the night always ends the same way;

you sleeping through the sounds of my sobs.

i hover my hands over your throat,

wanting to press and twist

until your eyes bulge and pop.

i think killing you might be worth it

if it means she’ll die with you.

but she never will.

she travels through your bloodstream;

i never even cross your mind

when you’re doped up

and choking on lust

for the whore who frequents your body.

you will take her to the grave

and she will lie with you in your slumber

whilst i live in hiding

from the ghosts of your infidelity.

all i ask is that you promise me one thing –

that in the next life

i won’t have to see her claw marks on your skin,

and i won’t have to soothe your sweats

when she leaves you aching for her touch,

and i won’t have to sell myself to bring her back to you,

and i won’t have to clean up the reminders

of the nights you share together.

it will be just us.

it will be just us

It's disconcerting …

the way my eagerness morphs to poised aspiration awaiting your crude touch, pushing me over the edge yet again.

____________________________

It unnerves me …

The way I like this.

The many ways I shouldn't

And I wonder …

does it unnerve you too?

Do you like the contradiction we stir up, or do you just like the remains?

The ash it leaves

Gently cleaving to the air before it randomly settles

Burning and decorating the tangled sheets beneath us …

Exposing humbled secrets ...

telling our stories.

~A.B.K.~ © 9/8/2018