Lips are moving around the room and the words flow easy from laughing faces to my deaf ears. Giving them what they want, I show my white teeth, nod, and stare attentively, pretending I care about what they have to say, while my distant eyes can only focus on his every move. The way he swirls his Jack Daniels on ice, caressing the top of the glass, extending his pinky in a salute, gesturing his arousal. Leaning in, as if the background music is somehow at fault, it is just a lame excuse for him to move closer, when he says to her the words he once said to me, "come again?" I know he did, even though I can't read his lips from where I stand, paralyzed.

Lifting the glass slowly, taking a long sip, his head moves seductively with the music, courtingly. The song ends and he licks a drop of invisible poison from his lower lip, then curling it in, he bites, his upper teeth caressing the skin of his chin, back and forth, a baby in its rocker. Her arms are crossed in front of her slinky black dress, partially covering her ample bosom only because she has no idea what to do with them when he moves his forefinger onto one of her arms, landing like a spider blown out of its web. The finger travels her bare skin, uninvited, and she releases her arms, surrendering.

One voice alone, my own constant companion, speaks and listens. The only one I hear. It tells me to scream, "Get your hands off of her," but I don't. I stay with them on the other side of the room, pretending, with the bald boss whose breath smells, I know because he is too close, and his fat wife who doesn't watch, doesn't care, holds onto her Birkin bag. The only voice I know wants to ask her. How? How can you be just you? You and your Birkin bag, able to turn your back while your husband betrays you, in the same way, right in front of your face.

I want to erase it all. Rewind. Not back to our drive over to his office Christmas party. Further back. Way back to when my mother's door was closed and I didn't know what was going on on the other side and I was all alone out there to fend for myself and if only I could rewrite it all. But it is my story. Me and my story. Me, alone with the voice in my head telling me I'm worthless, I deserve to be cheated on, but he, and she, just a number, will never know I watch. My mind will watch long after it's over and on our drive back, he will sense my anger. He always does, but he will have no idea why. When he calls me crazy, he doesn't have to because the voice has already made that clear. I see them, the touch, their bite. It bites me so many times I lose count.

As the sun takes down its colour and The clouds take over the sky,

I think of you again.

I think of the all the silly things that won't be silly anymore.

I think of us that won't be us anymore.

My mind agrees that it's the better for both of us,

The sky remains still even without the sun.

But my heart disagrees that it'll kill both of us,

The sky doesn't remain as bright as it does with the sun.

And in this argument between my mind and my heart,

The sun flows far away from the sky.

The sun was you and the sky was me.

The sun will always remain bright, and the sky will always remain empty without the sun.

Do you know what it means

When I say no?

It means that I have negated

The thoughts you have

Regarding me.

It means that I do not

Permit for you to touch me.

Then what makes you

Think otherwise?

Siddiqui

"Mama, mama," the slut cries. "Please don't die, please don't die!" She looks at me through tear-filled eyes, but I know she's really wondering how much she'll get from my will. I could tell her, but choose not to. She's always enjoyed surprises, so she can have her biggest one yet.

The druggie's hands are shaking as he takes one of my hands and kisses it. "I love you, mama," he says, simply. HIS place in my will should come as no suprise, but then, he's never been known for brains.

I hear the gold-digger sobbing, but don't even spare him a look. The sex these last dozen years has been phenomenal and I half wonder how he pulled it off so well, pretending he loves me in his quest for my coffers.

The ice queen, cheater, and thief are also in attendance, presumably to see me off to my next level of being, but what they're really waiting for is my last breath and hence, the end of my grasp on my millions. I look around for Pipsy, the actual recipient of my vast estate, and see her tail at the foot of my bed, in front of the thief.

"Pi... pi ..." I try to call her, but my throat, scarred from years of chain-smoking, will not allow me to complete the word.

"Shh, shh, mother, don't try to talk." The druggie again.

Fortunately, my little bundle of fur knows I was calling for her and she comes bounding to me, too happy to bathe my face one more time. While she readies my face for the after-life, I look upon hers one more time, the only face I care to take in during my last moments.

Her big brown eyes are the most sincere I've seen during my 69 years of life and right now, they hold a sincere sadness; though she can't put it into words, my truest love knows I'll be dead soon and it grieves her badly. Her wet little nose tickles at least as much as her gravilly tongue, but that's okay; her bath eclipses the sponge ones the gold-digger has been giving me for the last few weeks.

A single tear escapes the corner of my eye as I finally manage to say her name. "Pipsy."

Fade-to-black.

Before you, I was complacent. I got involved in things and I had opinions, but it never took, or perhaps I never gave, my all.

I didn't think it was needed.

But you- you were the spark that ignited me.

At first, it was minimal. A little extra feeling here, a little there.

But you didn't stop; you don't stop.

You added to my flames, over and over and over again.

In no time at all I was a full blown wildfire.

But wildfires need fuel, and it wasn't long till I was all burnt out.

Today, I haven't given up. I am still resisting. I am fighting back.

But the fire is gone, and has been replaced with sadness. With despair. And dare I say, a tad bit of hopelessness.

At this point, there is nothing left to feel but nothing.

Walk boldly through

the unmarked door,

peel back the layers,

crack the rock

and follow the vein,

wherever it wanders.

Empty your pockets,

smooth wrinkled notes

with soft fingers.

Venture forth

on brave feet

toward your visions.

Don’t look back -

pursue your dreams,

hunt for happiness,

seek your quest,

take tangled paths,

savor the search.

Suck life

into your breast,

awakening

at the cusp

of your journey

to discover

the solution

to what

you are looking for.

Hey

Umm

I was wondering if -

Well, I mean

I was just kinda hoping

Well

Its just that

You know

I just think that 

This is kind of wrong

If you don't mind me saying

I

You

Well

I mean

It just hurts

Only a little bit

But I would really appreciate it

If -

I am just a little bit

Tired

Of all of the blood

I mean

Not that it's too bad

I just

I'm sorry

Its just that

Umm

You know

I

Uhh

I just -

Never mind

It's okay

Really

Forget it

Sorry...

I received one of the worst insults recently and Iʼm still grappling with it.

Hereʼs the set up:

My significant other and I have been going through a really tough time. I seem to lack the ability to effectively communicate my concerns and feelings to him, even when I take the time out to think and write them out and revise them.

I tried that a few nights ago. Plotted it out as best I could via text, but of course, it wasnʼt received well in his perspective.

In a phone call he slashed me down, saying I make everything a big ordeal even when itʼs not. When I again expressed exactly what was relayed in that text message, he cut me down with:

“If you are such a wordsmith, you should be able to word things better…”

It stung more then it should have. Enraged me, but I held it in knowing that, had I pointed it out, it would have escalated the entire conversation.

He, of all the people who know me, knows that my writing talent is the one of the few things I feel confident about. Without realizing it, he kicked me in my gut with such a pointed remark.

I can spin stories, arc narratives, enjamb lines of poetry, compose dialogue, pen thorough emails, concoct convincing copy….

But yea, it's hard for me to properly express my emotions, to convey them in ways that he will receive and not automatically jump to the conclusion that I am being a spiteful bitch.

Years of repressing one's emotions makes it a bit difficult to learn how to relay them.

I guess I am no wordsmith. Maybe I am just a hack with a keyboard.

But ya know, I can't believe that.

It was late August something and the year was 2008.

My dad just had some major life changing epiphany and decided he'd leave us for something he thought would be amazing.

So, we all gathered as one giant family at his fond farewell and presented our case and begged him to stay, however he wanted none of that and went into silent mode for the rest of the day.

We even did a presentation of the pros and cons of staying versus leaving, but all he said was blah, blah, blah and stormed out the door with his suitcase in tow. Thump, thump, thump went his old wagon, as he drove it down the dead end road.

We chased him for 6 fathoms, but he went in a woody wagon for one last ride and we were running on unleaded shoe polish, with very little tread between the eight of us.

Noooooooooooooooo! Was heard for days in echoes off walls four feet thick and covered in cement and children's fingerprints.

He was long gone, like an old note, that shriveled up and faded over time.

And for many months, I would replay old messages he'd left on my phone, old moments that are now long gone, because updates and glitches pretty much suck!

Now, too many days have faded between then and now and like those days my memory struggles to put two coherent moments together, just so I can remember his smile.

He was gone for a moment and never returned.

Even in this technology free world, a moment, is only a moment, as long as you can still breathe life into it.

Otherwise that moment is just dust!

If I had one last hug, I'd give it to this man. One more, one last hug, before he was gone forever.

In hopes, I could steal him, away from the reaper!

William Henry Mills JR

9-5-2016