U!

Mother has

.... put Up

With as much of Your

SHIT

As She can take!

You've treated Me

like your Doormat

Drinking me Dry.

Floundered the Natural

Resources I Lovingly

Shared.

Ate from my Knowledge trees

Fruit trees

And

My Money trees.

U !

U

Cigarette Smoking

Caddy exhaust driving

Rocket Fuel Child

Get Out!

Or Else

Mother will Spew

Like a Volcano

and ...

Ashes

To Ashes

Dust

U!

The dancer kicked her leg high and swished her pink dress, cut low how McGurk liked it. He watched her and not the screaming woman who kicked her legs even higher, albeit with the benefit of a man carrying her aloft toward the door and the waiting Bowery cop.

“Where do they get it?” the barman asked him beneath the piano music. He poured three more fingers of whiskey for a swaying, unshaven man.

McGurk stroked his moustache and eyed the dancers, choosing. “Get what?”

“The carbolic acid.”

McGurk’s flat gaze remained on the edges of the dress, which had slipped a little, it seemed to him. “Don’t your missus clean house, Willie?”

“Not if she can help it.” A customer put three bits on the bar, so Willie extended the tube to him. The man took a deep breath, then began gulping as the crowd began hooting around him. “It could be a problem, Mr. McGurk,” Willie said.

The dancer on the left had stopped smiling, McGurk noted. He didn’t pay her to frown. She’d get a little pick-her-up before her time upstairs. “How’s that?”

“These women. That’s the third one tried to kill herself, now. In two weeks. The cops might ask questions about upstairs.”

“They all know upstairs. There ain’t a one of ’em but he dips his wick at McGurk’s after a patrol.”

The drinker coughed beer onto the floor. The surrounding patrons jeered, and McGurk smelled the camphor he cut the beer with. A drunkard reached for a dancer’s leg, then yelped as she brought down her heel on his hand.

“The customers, then,” Willy said. “Bit hard to have your fun while some woman’s burning her throat out next to you. And everybody’s heard about it.”

McGurk turned to his barkeep. “That’s right,” he said. “Everybody’s heard about it.”

John McGurk was a diligent man. He worked through the wee hours. Before the Bowery rose from its stupor sometime the next afternoon, he had affixed his new sign to the crumbling brick. New York City had 7,000 saloons, but everyone would hear about McGurk’s Suicide Hall.

Warning: This is a place where writers write. Prose stood for extreme first amendment practices before Elon Musk. Nothing is off limits. We explore all aspects of our inner thoughts about the worlds within and without us. This is about expression of ideas not agreement, with content. Beautiful writing can express ideas you despise. Ides you support can be written like cray. It is okay to "like" the first and not the second, because this is a place where writers write and not Twitter.

A long plastic stick

used to throw a ball further.

A simple toy, used by many.

Yet,

this simple toy hides a long term danger.

It may bring a waggle of your dogs tail,

hours of fun as your dog

runs, runs, runs.

Galloping at full speed to claim its prize,

a wet yellow ball.

Every time you throw that ball you're

committing your dog to a lifetime of pain.

Every time your dog stops suddenly to catch the ball you're

committing your dog to a lifetime of pain.

Years throwing a ball,

back and forth, back and forth.

Each throw damages your dogs

muscles,

bones,

cartilage.

Over time it gets worse and worse, going unnoticed.

Your loyal dog keeps

running and running and running.

Until

one day when he/she is old they will develop a limp,

thousands of pounds later spent on x-rays and specialists

will reveal the truth behind a

simple ball thrower.

Existence is not so simple,

as at first it does appear.

There are dangers.

There are strangers.

Open eyes,

and empty chairs.

Stay alert.

Keep aware.

Forward step.

Watch your tread.

Take care,

and be prepared.

Hazards beckon.

Peril calls.

Silent shadows,

Graceless winds,

enemies unconquerable,

friends ineffable.

Safety nowhere.

Nowhere safe.

Beware,

but do not load,

your heart,

with cares.

Do not fall prey,

to fear,

to hate.

Give all to love,

my dear,

and it will be,

okay.

before you fall in love again

or rekindle the fire we used to have

heed this warning

i can't be who you want me to be

i won't say what you want me to say

i need to be me if we're going to start this again

i won't always feel like enough

but i'll always try to be

because i love you so much that i'm willing to lose myself for a second time

to make you happy

and sometimes when i look in the mirror

i hate what i see, and wonder how you could ever love that

so i'm sorry if that shows too much

but i just want to know who i am

what i am, even if it means upsetting you

and going around in circles with you again and again

Take a pause. Actions

count. Like reactions,

that are given thought,

your future is bought

using the wisdom

not of this kingdom.

Dismiss the missive,

to not be listened.

Your eternal screams

will say, "Not redeemed!"