“I saw Wires again..?” Isaac murmured, mostly to himself.

“...What did you just say to me..?” replied his father, still drunk from the previous evening.

Isaac focused on his hands clasped tightly in his lap, knowing better than to look up as he tearfully whispered, “He was tasting again.. it hurts.”

“You listen to me now, boy. You hear? There IS no “Wires”. The only thing in that damned closet is your momma’s dress and I’ll burn the damned thing if you don’t stop your lies! Now, quit your crying and go comb your hair. It’s sticking up.”

“But there is! Wires is in there, I promise! He comes out to taste!”

“Shut up now, boy! I don’t want to hear it! You do as your daddy says and go comb down your damned hair!”

“... But it hurts.. my head..” Isaac cried.

Isaac’s father had reached his limit with these lies. He propelled himself across the expanse of the small kitchen table, one hand on each side of Isaac’s little head, “BOY! I’LL GIVE YOUR HEAD A REASON TO HURT! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT PAIN IS, JUST YOU-” and stopped as goosebumps traveled up his arms and neck. He swallowed hard. The back of Isaac’s head, beneath the point at which his hair was disturbed, was warm and it.. it was wet. “What the…?” his father began to question as he pulled his hands swiftly away from Isaac. His right hand was glistening and he vaguely noticed a familiar smell. He stood up and slowly walked behind Isaac. What he saw had an entirely sobering effect and he was horrified. There was an injury to the back left side of his son’s head. The hair had been removed and where there should have been skin, there was an area of exposed skull. It was the edge of the wound that brought the vomit to his mouth.. It looked like someone had taken a large pencil eraser and had effectively erased away a section of Isaac’s scalp, leaving a wide hole with a red, raw edge. No.. No, it was something else.. It looked more like when a predator with a rough tongue just licks and licks its lifeless prey, clear down to the bone. His father went pale as he recalled what Isaac had said just moments earlier; “He was tasting again..” He walked shakily to his son’s room. The nightlight was still on and from inside the closet, he heard the distinct sound of wire hangers scraping along the bar as the door softly closed.

“Daddy..?” came Isaac’s tiny voice from the hall behind him. “Did he taste you, too?”

Thorned feelings skitter across the earth, caked in glitter, hollow words fly, away they flitter; nothing more than sound litter

And, on the tongue, taste lies, bitter, a mind filled with idle chatter, empty chitter, stimulated blood, she'll shake, she'll jitter like a caffeinated bad news transmitter

But somewhere below the surface, balanced upon the edge of truth's precipice, is where trust and insincerity crookedly wed

Tear-soaked pillows and sheets composed of leaves from weeping willows, a burning mattress, vows mispracticed make this marital bed

Distantly plays the violin, off in the shadow of lurking sin, sending chilly shivers dancing atop my skin like winter nymphs skating pond ice, crepe paper thin

Iridescent feelings twist and spin across my face, dripping from my chin, twitching on the dry floor, emotion grows fin: scaled and cold; a coelacanth twin

But oxygen it cannot breathe, pale and aquatic, beginning to teethe upon the things that, beside me, seethe, reaching for their swords, slipping from protective sheath

There is no part that does still believe that to our love I shall continue to cleave when you said you wouldn't, but, regardless, did leave, I'll follow you to the ends; it's my heart I must retrieve

So draw the curtains against the day, I don't want to see the gold of sunray, when imp-like misgivings emerge to play and light and innocence are falsely portrayed

I know that I have reached a line drawn in the sand, I see it, though it's fine, hands behind my back, bound with twine, I step over it into darkness; no illumination to shine

No stars, no moon, no streetlights to see and that means that, here, no one and nothing can see me, in the velvet black, I can finally sleep, away from dastard and bleak blue secrets you keep

And though those tears for you still seep, I refuse to emit sound, I will not utter a peep, I would sooner approach a cliff and from it, blindly leap than feed you my suffering, the pain is too steep

For you to stomach, if you only knew, but, oh, the terrible torment my pining would put you through, the longing has simply melted my heart to cardiac goo and shattered my existence beyond the repair of any philosophical glue

What I felt with you was the most true, until you took an axe to it, splitting pure beauty into two screaming fractures of mutated love and trust turned to ashes rising to the sky above

If this is what happens when push comes to shove, I won't even cover my tracks, won't wear a single glove, when I strangle what's left, snuff our impassioned dove and bury it beneath the cold, dead ground

Sounds and sirens swimming around and moonflowers open on another planetary mound, sparkling clarity is nowhere to be found; we have been convoluted

What happened?

How was our connection polluted?

Somewhere along love lines, the transmission was muted; bad or good, I wanted it confuted and I guess it was, however transmuted; rewired, misfired, but never rebooted

And in the end, the champagne was fluted, tinted with an emerald oil, jealousy undiluted, my words from before, though transfixed, I've refuted but that we've been broken cannot be disputed

3.

“Well, Hell’s bells… That was a waste.” she said to herself after watching Days Of Our Lives. A waste. I am wasting. Wasting time. What time? Wasting life. No. STOP. I wish I could just smoke…

Jean sat in her chair at the kitchen table, readying herself, steeling herself for the coming emotionality of telling her secret. Am I not in enough pain already…? And can’t I only feel it…?! Why does it have to spread?! WHY DO THE PAIN AND CELLS HAVE TO SPREAD?! Because misery loves company. ‘Misery’. Mm… Good movie. “Joe hates the leg part…” she smiled wistfully, a private smile between herself and a memory of one of her sons. I still remember the way he moved as a child; jerky and quick like he was out of time… Time. I still remember the way his little arms wrapped around me before bed. Little arms and then big, strong arms. How do I tell Joe? My Joe. How could I ever be away from my Joe…? He is just like me. Not like Lisa. Not even like Terry, his twin… Like ME. He would face this, head on. So would Terry. They would fight. For me, they would fight. So, I will fight for them. You have to fight. Maybe you can beat this. Maybe you can beat this before you even have to say anything. Stage four. … No, it’s lonely... And I’m done.

On her way back from the bathroom, Jean stopped at the refrigerator for another beer. “Damn this leg!!” she hissed as she sat back in her chair, phone in hand. 10:01PM. She poured the beer and sprinkled the salt. She swallowed a pill with a long drink and marvelled at the minor discomfort she was currently feeling in her mouth. Ready now. Jean dialed the number she knew by heart from the day she received it. Little pain now…

It rang twice, “Hellooo…?” Jean could hear the smile in her sister’s voice.

“Hello, Jan.”

L.L. Flores 2021

2.

Nausea had become Jean's constant. Like her heartbeat, it was steady and thick. But not forever. Neither can last forever. Sigh… She walked, second beer in hand with her head swimming in pain and malnourishment, from the refrigerator to her chair by the table and carefully sat. She tapped the top of the can with her broken nail a few times before opening it. Feels wrong to use a broken nail but there's no sense in breaking another one. Nails are not tools. She set the beer down and looked at her outstretched hand. Long, slender… strong, even still. Like I was. Before. Before time and illness took from me. Before they ravaged… me. Jean curled her fingers into a tight ball, her fist shaking with rage. Or was this fear…? Damn it. She picked up the can, angled her glass, and poured the beer, listening to the half-melted ice from earlier crack and tink. She shook just enough salt into it and listened to the sound that made; a quiet fizz was the voice of receding foam. Should eat something. She took a timid taste of her beer and waited for the flames of liquid contact to sting and burn her sore. Just breathe. Just. Breathe. Before you know it, it will barely hurt anymore. All I do is hurt anymore.. Take another drink. Let it numb…

Jean eyed the silver cigarette case on top of the TV Guide. The case was open. It was full. She had, a few years back, switched from cigarettes to little cigars in an attempt to quit smoking altogether. That had been the plan, at least. 'Man makes plans and God laughs.' "True." she thought, solemnly. She reached for a cigar and paused, fingertips hovering but a centimeter above it- Not yet. I can still feel my mouth. It's throbbing. She had taken a solitary puff that morning and had opened a door to a new chamber of torture. Wait. Drink. It will help. … Help. Jean sucked in a quick breath before taking a swig of salted beer and clenched her jaw against the onslaught of a sensation that the word 'pain' could even begin to describe. This… This was beyond pain. This was Hell in cellular form.

And something lurks within me, sharp like broken bulbs from a Christmas tree, bloated with a stinger like the hive’s queen bee and my weather is cast in shadow

Ashes inside instead of falling snowflakes, the monster never gives as much as it takes, bodies are missing, drag the lakes and I barely breathe anymore

Heartbreak gave me talons and six horns, eyes the color of Firethorns, a low and guttural growl that steadily warns and silver feathered wings

Eight inch nails for teeth, nothing but storms in the underneath, my altered humanity, I do bequeath to anyone who might want it

It cracked the moment I tasted flesh, in the forest of pine needle mesh, I couldn’t resist the smell of your blood, so fresh, I had to take you home

Because I’ve been less than human for so long, since the last time I heard my mother’s song, I see the people gathered in a throng and my mouth drips…

I am not like the other daughters, hands forming hearts like coupling otters, holding tightly against the tumultuous waters, I’m my own kind and I stand alone-

Remove the marrow from the bone, freeze it, turn it into a stemcell ice cream cone, howl at the moon, like the wolf, I am lone and the sky is a Soylent Green

And, oh, how I miss the actual snow, to sink into it in a fiery glow, I carry four broken hearts, I know, can you make one of them work…?

And at his cries, my pointed ears perk, I want to pull him to me, just grab his hand and jerk, instead I hide, just behind him, I lurk, because I can’t let him see me like this

Gone is the woman about whom he used to care, replaced with by a teething and dreamless nightmare, I want to capture him, take him, drag him back to my lair, but we can’t connect over a vacant and burnt orange stare

And, oh, how I simply long to hold him within my wings, just a whiff of his skin and my soul screamingly sings, but he loves humans, he doesn’t love THINGS and I am one, I’m a creature in between beings

“I saw Wires again..?” Isaac murmured, mostly to himself.

“...What did you just say to me..?” replied his father, still drunk from the previous evening.

Isaac focused on his hands clasped tightly in his lap, knowing better than to look up as he tearfully whispered, “He was tasting again.. it hurts.”

“You listen to me now, boy. You hear? There IS no “Wires”. The only thing in that damned closet is your momma’s dress and I’ll burn the damned thing if you don’t stop your lies! Now, quit your crying and go comb your hair. It’s sticking up.”

“But there is! Wires is in there, I promise! He comes out to taste!”

“Shut up now, boy! I don’t want to hear it! You do as your daddy says and go comb down your damned hair!”

“... But it hurts.. my head..” Isaac cried.

Isaac’s father had reached his limit with these lies. He propelled himself across the expanse of the small kitchen table, one hand on each side of Isaac’s little head, “BOY! I’LL GIVE YOUR HEAD A REASON TO HURT! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT PAIN IS, JUST YOU-” and stopped as goosebumps traveled up his arms and neck. He swallowed hard. The back of Isaac’s head, beneath the point at which his hair was disturbed, was warm and it.. it was wet. “What the…?” his father began to question as he pulled his hands swiftly away from Isaac. His right hand was glistening and he vaguely noticed a familiar smell. He stood up and slowly walked behind Isaac. What he saw had an entirely sobering effect and he was horrified. There was an injury to the back left side of his son’s head. The hair had been removed and where there should have been skin, there was an area of exposed skull. It was the edge of the wound that brought the vomit to his mouth.. It looked like someone had taken a large pencil eraser and had effectively erased away a section of Isaac’s scalp, leaving a wide hole with a red, raw edge. No.. No, it was something else.. It looked more like when a predator with a rough tongue just licks and licks its lifeless prey, clear down to the bone. His father went pale as he recalled what Isaac had said just moments earlier; “He was tasting again..” He walked shakily to his son’s room. The nightlight was still on and from inside the closet, he heard the distinct sound of wire hangers scraping along the bar as the door softly closed.

“Daddy..?” came Isaac’s tiny voice from the hall behind him. “Did he taste you, too?”

And I hate the way they smell, ripe with betrayal and secrets to tell, lacking a backbone, headed straight to Hell because they believe-

That simply saying it makes it true, I am beyond sick and tired of you, I am steadily overlooking my cue to walk away

It grows larger and larger each day and the end is beginning to fray, loosely tied, a slipknot ballet, twitching and breathless

And trees of crystal line the path between safety and the bloodbath, I’m a reddened wall, the aftermath of bludgeoned life

With imagined betrayal, he was outright rife, it is why he still gripped the knife, slick and dripping with hematic strife; what had pulsed within her

But her heart’s still fluttering, it’s astir, even as the black and whites purr against the curb, red and blue lights demur any sense of well-being

Because, for them, there is no foreseeing the consequences of her disagreeing, they didn’t see his concrete guaranteeing that she would pay

There’s just nothing that she can say, descriptive words could never convey the hatred writhing within the way his eyes promised her

That worse than punctures will assuredly occur before he will ever “allow” a spiritual transfer, that the lines between life and death are the ones he can blur and without feeling

Anything though she is left reeling, under moonlight, on wet dirt, she’s kneeling, in this position, he almost finds her appealing, but it’s not enough

And in the low light, she can see one metal cuff, a well-worn blade, and his quiet voice is gruff, he exhales a warm Marlboro puff… “I thought you told me you liked it rough..”

There is no way to safely outbluff, to feed him words of lace and feather fluff, the breath leaves her lungs in a panicked huff, oh, this is it…

He is a bottomless pit of the atrocities to commit; bite and beat and slash and slit, “It’s what you deserve.”

Simply and solely to unnerve, his eyes trace along her every curve, nothing about her worthy of reserve, he’ll take her apart

She left a taste on his tongue that’s tart and he has punishment to impart, justice will be served, his actions his art and they’ve all been fooled

And where it’s darkly pooled, her blood has thickened and cooled, around his fingers, her tresses are spooled like strands of gold

She did say she never wished to ever grow old, he helped her, truth be told, he did what was right, what was needed, what was bold…

His eyes the shade of marigold

And her eyes speak a lot like mine at the end of the night, heavy-lidded with wine, conveying a yearning, a longing, a certain pine, for who you were the original time you stumbled

Across one another in snow, your hearts without each other rusted and hollow, to your emptiness, she was the sharp echo, at least at first

His matches my insatiable thirst for the perverse and the hopelessly cursed, my impatience for the innocent and unversed, my love for the scent of heavy cloudburst

She even has my unbalanced disposition, a woman possessed by her own intuition, using your flaws as emotional ammunition to bleed you dry

And, like you, he loves to watch me cry from a frigid cold distance, never explaining why he's drifting away and his actions belie what they once were

She chokes out a guttural purr, "She'll never be me and I'll never be her…" even when it seems that some types reoccur, nearly perfect clones

I became his to consume, lick the bones, he whispers to me in low, sinister tones, "I used to love you." the words sinking like stones, a reiteration

And she's manning your obliteration, not submissive at all, but with vociferation and, like I, she lacks desideration for any part of you

He tells me exactly what to do and couldn't care less about the black and blue tinting my skin, coated in a panicked dew of perspiration and pain

Five years and a day since we last had contact, our connection a charade, a joke, a play-act, we found one another in others when that love cracked, dehydrated and gone

Because each one after US is a nearly identical pawn, a void-filler, a bore, a yawn, we take them wishing affection would respawn, so tell me…

"Did we move on…?"

Because wild winds wrote my name

Across the concrete in red letters of blame

Because I AM the reason you came…

I am the reason he hides; the reason they declaim

I have been tinged, I taste banality

Pearlescent teal and flames of carnality

2,000 years this side of night yet somewhere inside, there exists some light

A weightlessness that brings shame to flight and lets me absolve without having to fight

The forces at work well below the detectable tip

The ones that say, "No." and those that command me to rip

My shell from its framework, alabaster and cracked

I was biodegradable once…

I AM SCAR TISSUE AND CHEMICALLY ABSTRACT

Metallic where the unscathed bone cracked

A crater in the arm where the ribbon was packed

And cotton candy can't taste as sweet when, after wild winds, the body meets the street

Plant the truth beneath the wet, black peet and pray that it and ears never haphazardly meet

Never have I ever screamed in defeat-

The secrets I'll hold until Death and I meet

When the demons come, they arrive by the fleet and I find there's no way but to gracefully retreat

Into mySELF, fear-rattled and at a loss

The smallest always looks me in the eye and gives the coin a toss

"Heads, we'll be with you for a day - tails, you're ours foreverrrr…"

They ate my guts so long ago, I have none with which to reply, "Never."

Or even, "Whatever." - I can't feign not caring-

The glowing spots set in their rings are the pieces of my soul they're wearing

Parts of who I am that I didn't anticipate sharing

And there's no one around who's fit for pairing

Love's in the corner sullenly staring and at my own reflection, I'm rufescent and glaring

Howling into sweet, dark nothing, "WHAT HAVE I BECOME?!"

Receiving a wispy, godforsaken reply, "Inhumanly glum…"

I am interwoven with all that is wrong

Gangrene and tetanus-

Lockjaw to prolong-

The horrified expression frozen, mouth utterly agape

Close the verbal floodgates with staples and duct tape

But before you do, shove your hand down my throat

Tear from their God given place my vocal cords as you smote

My bodily vessel, invaded and overridden

By presences and faculties that once were strictly forbidden

Wild winds carried them in and so shall they sweep me under…

And in my mind and in the sky rings the same voluminous thunder

This isn't a joke. I am serious when I say that the laughter has been led to slaughter like the pigs we consume. I am so serious when I tell you that concern has fallen to the wayside, as dead and weightless as the last autumnal leaf. And I am absolutely serious when I state that love has been strangled by the clawed hands of enmity. There's a hunger- grotesque and selfish -that lingers in the collective gaze and it, itself, screams, "NO ONE EVEN SEES YOU..." while still conveying the spiteful fact that they can't WAIT to watch your collapse. Time is ticking... The elements of this life are shaded by banality; lackluster at every turn and she is GONE.

Never again will we genuinely laugh. No, what we emit is a forced cacophony of awkward, stilted tones. We feign concern because we know it's what's expected of humans. And love... We never even mention love because, without her, it doesn't exist. Why so serious...?

Because she is gone.

BECAUSE she is gone.