What left is there for me to do?

And now, the end is near, all the years I have worked, all the plans I have made, doesn’t mean anything any longer.

So, I face the final curtain before all goes dark around me. And in the last moments my friends, I’ll say it clear, that you full well understand, so that before you, you will know I’ll state my case of which I’m certain.

Yet, for all that I have done, there is but one thing I have lacked, one thing I have longed for and it has been within my grasp, only to slip away like a feather blown away in the breeze.

I’ve lived a life that’s full, yet my heart and soul remains empty. I have traveled the world ten times over, traveled each and every highway, yet she alludes me like a filmy ghost staring back at me through a mirror, but one thing you or anyone else cannot say is wrong; I did it my way.

We both know I’m not perfect, but then, who is? I have regrets, but then to few to mention. After all, now doesn’t seem to be the time to really look back and make ammends.

Throughout my life, I did what I had to do. In the beginning it was just to keep from drowning. but as time traveled, I realized I saw it through without exemption.

It was then, when I was finally within reach of all my plans and goals, where I planned each charted course, being smart enouigh not to waiver or fold for fear of failure, but rather take the time to take each careful step along the byway, and more, much more than this, no one will ever be able to say, I didn’t do it my way.

Now, in these final hours or perhaps minutes ... yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew what was going on inside me but you never questioned my motives. Especially when I bit off more than I could chew. You would just stand off to the side, nodding your head when I gave you something to do and you went on about the business at hand.

But through it all when there was doubt, I never relented, did I? I never backed off or down. I ate it up and spit it out. I faced it all in my life and still managed to come out on top because I stood tall in the face of what I was up against.

I have pretty much run the gauntlet in life. After all, I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried, but when she went away, I vowed I had had enough. I’ve had my fill, my share of loosing, and swore I would never let love invade my being ever again. Once was more than enough for me.

Yet, even after what, almost fifty years? If she were to walk back into my arms, I wouldn’t say a word. And yes, I would take her back that quickly for I never stopped loving her.

Still, as tears subside, in a small sense, I find it all so amusing because, just imagine it if you will. With all I have accomplished in life; to think, I did all that, without hesitation. Oh no, oh no, not me because I vowed a long time ago I would do things my way.

Now, I am here in my last moments of life, and I ponder life’s big prank on me, for what is a man, what has he got to show for all he has done, knowing when the light goes dark one last time, you become nothing more than a memory.

Let’s face it, if not himself, then he has naught and perhaps that is the last deciding factor before life is snubbed out.

To say the things he truly feels, whether believed otr not, but know these words are not from one who kneels. I have been knocked around and knocked down until it came my turn. When it did, suddenly the world changed for me. For the records shows, I took the blows and yet, I did it my way.

Your last official act is to follow the directions in the envelope and make absolutely certain everything written is followed to the letter. You must find her for me. Telll her I am sorry. And that all I have remaining, is hers.

It is my way of saying ... each hearbeat I have, beats for no one but her.

Now go. I need to close my eyes and sleep, perhaps for the last time.

Kiss me,

Snaking

Tongues into my head

Sucking out my reason,

Bring to life my dead

With words of passion

Without love.

Still a man hears what he wants to hear

And disregards the rest,

For hearing all destroys us.

I try

But can’t digest.

Expanding minds,

Exploding

Beyond all recognition.

Insanity,

Like snaking tongues,

Dismantling cognition,

Sucking out my reason

Like snakes inside my head

And tongues

That kiss with passion's promise

But leave us, then

For dead.

You’re watching me and loving me, right now. In this moment where I’m a piece of shit wishing I was nothing. How could you do this? Let me be this in this world you’ve created? How could you not help me? How could you allow my existance to damage your world? All of my thoughts of you come apart at the seems. I just can’t make sense of it. Whatever path my mind takes it comes to the same conclusion. I’m useless, worthless, graceless. You can’t imagine how I hate this. But you must be able to, you’re all knowing, all powerful, and all loving. Or your supposed to be. I try to be positive, look for your love, put the flowers I find in a vase, but I’m not my rosy self. I left my roses behind me in some cavern of my childhood. I can’t find them. I’m left here in your world completely graceless, screaming out for grace.

17

Katherine loves the ocean. She loves romantic comedies, Tina Turner and Jane Austen. She loves Valentine’s Day, its absurdly-shaped pink and red helium balloons and giant stuffed bears. She loves the sound of ocean waves and listens to them on CDs at bedtime at her therapist’s suggestion. As she relaxes and just before she falls asleep she imagines kissing a man on the sandy beach, like she’s seen in the movies. But not just any man-- her soul mate. She feels like he is out there somewhere, and if they ever meet, she would recognize him.

25

Kathrine meets a guy at the karaoke bar. His name is James and he makes her smile. Is he her soul mate? He proposes on the beach, they get married in a church, with hundreds of pink flowers and hundreds of laughing guests. She’s happy and in love. But what happens to Mr Darcy and Elizabeth after they wed? Isn’t he still the same impatient man? They spend so much time together, she’s not even sure he is Mr Darcy anymore.

29

They have children. He works; she works from home. They are too busy. He doesn’t take her for walks on the beach anymore. He works all the time. One night, he is not home even as they sit on the couch together. They are watching the Wedding Singer. She looks over and knows he is distracted. She is worried she has accidentally married Glenn Goulia instead of Robbie Hart.

32

Her worries grow. She is home alone with the children all the time. He is out working late. She is always on her laptop. He is always on his phone. Home is boring now. She watches When Harry met Sally late at night waiting for him to come home. She too wants the rest of her life to start as soon as possible. She visits internet forums, but they aren’t the same as a real life friend. She mainly likes sharing her opinion.

James is always grumpy now. And too busy to make Valentines reservations. It’s a holiday for kids anyway, he tells her, so she makes cards with their toddler. Sparkles and glitter and tears are all over her face. “You look pretty mama” says the toddler.

33

Katherine becomes obsessed with what James is doing. She realizes his iPad that he leaves at home connects to the email that he checks on his phone. She watches carefully one day and figures out that the pin is the same as his old bank card pin from when they first met. She starts checking his emails when he is not home. There are a lot of messages from another woman. He always deletes them, so she has to check all the time.

The messages are mainly friendly. They aren’t sexual but they are flirtatious. Katherine waits to see what will happen. In part because she is a coward, in part because she is paralyzed by the uncertainty. If there were naked pictures, she could explode. But this odd friendship has a line that hasn’t been crossed yet.

For her birthday that year, they order pizza and watch You’ve got Mail. She remembers how the email seemed so cutting edge when the film came out, but now it’s vintage. She wonders if James gets as excited to get messages from the other woman as Tom Hanks is the when he gets emails from Meg Ryan. But she still can’t mention it.

34

One day his message asks the other woman if she wants to work late together and then have dinner. Is this the crossed line? An internet search reveals that the other woman is blonde and skinny and a lot younger. They work together. It’s a romantic comdey where Katherine is the fool.

Katherine finds an abandoned payphone and calls the blonde’s work number. She can’t fit the stroller into the disgusting phone booth, but the toddler and the baby are both asleep, so she’s alone in there, listening to a sexy voice say hello. She doesn’t say anything, just breathes, feeling like a degenerate. She almost passes out from the smell of piss and from her anger. It’s so hot in there. She hangs up the old beatup black receiver. click.

She goes home, pushing the stroller as if it were a heavy stone up a hill for eternity.

That night James is working late again, but she knows he is not alone. She cleans the kitchen obsessively, till her hands crack from bleach, listening to Tina sing “whats love gotta do with it” on repeat. When he gets home, she is too tired to speak. She kisses his cheek and goes to sleep. She feels pathetic. She wishes she had the guts to smother him with his own pillow. The problem is that she loves him. Not the kissing on the beach love, or the stuffed bear love, or even the Pride and Prejudice love, but the deep love that comes from knowing someone so well.

When she nurses the baby, it stares up at her with its big blue eyes. They are the exact same as her husbands eyes. She cries. She remembers their walks in the waves, how his face shone when their daughter was born. How he brushes her bangs off her face to kiss her forehead. How he danced with her gramma to the polka at her parents’ anniversary party, hopping to and fro like a demented chicken. How he always puts gas in the car since she hates the smell. How he has rdad Curious George more than 100 times to their toddler. He is not Glenn Goulia, she decides. But does she still want to love him? She considers leaving. But she just stays home and prays.

Is it an answered prayers when he comes clean? He crossed one line, but stopped before the next. Katherine didn’t know there were multiple lines. She doesn’t know that she wanted to know all this.

James feels terrible. He wants to make it up. The other woman asked him to leave his wife and his kids and be with her in her apartment overlooking the beach. He looked out at the waves and felt seasick. This shocked him as he did not realize he was in so deep. He is too honest, and tells Katherine everything, how they were just friends, but she made him feel special. He had been feeling so tired before. How things just progressed without him meaning for it, and that he and this blonde were about to have sex and he would have gone through with it, but for this question. The blonde slapped him and he left. It’s over, he promises.

Katherine is angry because he does not get it! That the emotional affair is the worst part of it, and his belief that he should be forgiven because he did not do the physical act repulses her. It’s the love she resents him for having felt for someone else, not the sex claims he never had. Who needs a heart, when a heart can be broken? plays in her head.

″ I don’t know if I love you anymore” she lies, ” but I will give you one more year.” If by the next year they are still miserable, she is leaving. But they have both recommitted to each other, so they are more passionate and affectionate than ever.

36

The next years are stable, happy, loving. They make time for each other, he works less, they have another baby. She lets go of her silly red and pink valentine love. She cherishes their honesty, the acts of service they do for each other, their cuddles, their family. When her grandmother dies, everyone remembers that polka dance at the funeral. He supports her as she cries. Their sex life is amazing. He holds her hand in church. The difficult year is hardly acknowledged. Everyone can see how crazy they are about each other. But somehow her heart is still bruised.

38

One day she sees a new name on a forum she visits. Immediately she is interested, as if his name were some kind of sign. #BeachBoy writes things that make her think and smile, and sometimes cry. She feels like she understands, as if somewhere on the other side of a screen is someone she used to know. She wants to ask him his real name. Why is she interested in someone she hasn’t met? She tells herself he might be a teenager, or morridly obese, or much older than her. But she doesn’t know if she would care, because it’s like You’ve Got Mail and he might see her soul. But it’s just a silly fantasy. She’s not 17 anymore, its just a daydream. You must try to ignore that means more than that, she sings.

She knows there is a line, but not sure where it is. Just the idea of someone is not really love, she tells herself, so why chase it? Beachboy might not even think about her at all or even care. So why make a big deal out of nothing? After all, she knows how it feels to be on the other shore. So she goes for a drive and, even with the baby in the back, cranks the volume. She sings along: what’s love got to do, with it, what’s love but a second hand emotion?

I'm your angel when it rains your devil when the sun shines bright.

And if heaven could pick a place where angels and demons survive in union maybe we could be one.

some say the thoughts are deep philosophical but I feel like they are more akin to being like the impressions of a child. A child of innocence wondering simple questions like, "why is the sky blue,"

And I think the reasons that I love you is because you and only you know that feeling.

when I fall from heaven hoping that maybe you might catch me with your eyes closed because; while I long for the warmth of your arms, I don't want you to see me like this.

I don't want you to see me falling. Even though I bow in worship to you and kiss the tips of your toes, I wish it was possible for me to have such an adoration for you in secrecy. the world can be so temperamental so judgemental.

And so I wonder can I love you and the other? Or if I did under discovery would you tie rocks to my feet so I fall to the ground and no longer realize me as an angel. Open my eyes and help me see that it won't always be this way. Wipe away the stains from my cheeks and cleanse me from my sins. Help me understand that there is space in between where demons and angels can be.

I think that you know what the feeling is.

i think you know how I try to escape myself even though you won't help me.

I think you like seeing me like this because you don't know how to see me otherwise. You can't fathom me in a different light. In a happy light. And so you hold my hand even though I'm down on my knees. You kiss my lips even though, I dangle from a cliff. You brush my hair even though parts of me burn in a fiery abyss.

Yes, i think you know just what the feeling is.

and through it, you'll love me though I'll cut you like a razor. and through it all, you'll love me even if that means you must burn with me. you'll love me even if it means you must fall with me.

Because that love is as radiant as a cloud. it's as burning as embers.

Yes, for in love is there ever any safety in it?

can we ever know if it's the one?

can we ever save ourselves from falling? from burning? from the stabbings?

And if we can then would we do all again?

We don’t wanna leave

No, we just wanna be right now,*

we are here, trying to find out

why and how to survive

and where to connect to the internet

we just want to live here

in what is middle America

surrounded by farms and cities

the famished, the diregarded

and those that are not fortunate enough

to understand our politics

taking selfies in the rearview

it’s all we have to show you

it’s important to post on the internet

what we can’t see in the mirror

the dark art of seduction

you could say this

is our chance to get famous

this is the moment for

brazenly taking what’s ours

rubbing the light out of our eyes

we just want to live here

in what is middle America

where the millennials come to seek revenge

where the yellow brick road ends

we are right here

we are right now

we are the chosen ones

*Taken from the song Burn, by Ellie Goulding

With the pale light in your hands, I see you walk across the green. Your eyes still shine bright blue, though now you seem all shrunk inside your hospital gown. You walk wearily, carefully, as if any of your steps might break you.

‘Hi Grandpa,’ I say, and wrap you in my arms. I can tell you haven’t been hugged in a while, because you grip me very tight, as if you’re lost out at sea and I’m the raft that can take you home.

We step apart, Mum watching you. She’s wary, angry with you. For what you did, for the dad you weren’t.

‘We brought biscuits,’ I say.

‘Oh, that’s good.’ you say weakly.

You used to love biscuits. You were the only person I knew who broke his toast and scones into little pieces before slathering them in jam and cream. You drowned your meals in wine and enjoyed every mouthful of whiskey. But now your insides hurt and most days eating is a chore. I knew that by the pointed edges of your collarbone.

‘It’s beautiful here!’ I say.

And it is. You nod as if you hadn't noticed. You’d never have accepted to live anywhere that didn’t look like a palace.

We get cups of tea and scones and sandwiches from a tea shop with pink walls. We talk of going up to Holkham, of taking you back to a wide stretch of sea.

You light a cigarette. Smoke folding sweetly in your lungs. Mum tries to stop you.

‘Deny me every one of life’s pleasures, why don’t you?’ you grumble.

Mum’s jaw clenches. No one can mess with my Mum, except you. No one else would be allowed to, by my dad, by me or by Grandma. Except you.

Your hands tremble. Parkinson’s.

When we drive home, Mum’s hands shake, too. She stops the car and starts to cry.

Sometimes, when you walk back into her life, she remembers the first time you walked out. She chokes up and thinks the world is her enemy all over again.

‘Every day’s another, Mum.’ I whisper.

She starts the car back up, and drives home, where Dad and I tell her stories to make her giggle, so she'll know and remember what loving can be.

Life goes on, neither the good

nor the bad ever lasts;

when despair seeps into your soul

never fret, it will pass;

the ups and downs

and sideway diversions

give meaning to life

though we have aversions

to that which gives pain

not its companion, delight,

or anxiety and anguish

panic or fright;

but what is left

what will shall remain,

when all we can see

makes us feel insane,

when the road ahead

seems desiccated and unending,

when no joy is present

nor seems to be waiting,

when understanding dawns,

as a single breath is drawn

that life goes on…

long after the thrill of living is gone.

In my life, there’s a before and after. Before my grandmother died, life was relaxed and carefree, but after, everything seemed to go down. My grandma died when I was younger, and she was my best friend. Now, whenever I’m stressed or tired, I can hear her whispering in the wind. “You’re doing your best as far as I know, that’s all that matters, just keep it at your own pace. Don’t be so anxious, believe in yourself and rely on yourself.”

@GaryEnglish

Song Inspiration: Perfect Places - Lorde

I fall asleep everywhere but my own bed. I doze off on the bus ride to school, in fifth period biology, the passenger seat of my older brother’s Chevy, and, once, inside a shopping cart. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve spoken to my mother in a month. It would take three to account for every time she has looked at me. I don't like to keep track.

Graffiti lines the brick walls on the way to the party. People like to call me dead girl, and that’s true. Even I can agree my blank stare and indifferent attitude looks like I belong in a casket, but not when they think I am. Every night, I live and die.

I live for punk rock music blaring through the speakers until it ricochets off my bones in whoever’s house we’re swaying listlessly in this time. I die for long conversations on geometric angles that I learned in sixth grade but the teacher feels the need to review again. I live for earbuds that have molded themselves into my ears and vintage t-shirts and flower crowns and pretending to be someone I’m not.

I like fast cars and leather jackets. I like ripped jeans and revel in the eye rolls of my principal as she tries to get the dress code changed. I hate the headlines and the weather. I like nodding along to whatever indie playlist somebody plugged in.

I like the highway at five am, quiet, peaceful, all wide lines and clear vision. I like roses and open flames, and I don’t know why. It’s just another graceless night.

Then, they say things like, ”Are you lost enough? Have another drink, get lost in us.” I like saying no to them. I like having a clear head amidst the chaos, the eye of the storm. I like seeing through the colors and heroes for who people really are.

Car music hits my eardrums better, so one day, I think I’ll blow my brains out to it. Turn the music up so loud my cerebellum rattles. Then, I think I’ll die happy. Then, I think I’ll find those perfect places that people at Woodstock and Monterey never found.