Neither was it the charm

That made him so appealing,

Yet she steal melted with time

Submitting to the patience of this man

'It is not your smell my dear, 

neither is it your strong figure,' she said

'But because you chose to fight my wars for me

When you realized I needed you

You gave me your heart,

and served me with your love

It is this kindness that makes you a man

And my ability to inspire it that makes me a woman,'

She said...patting her man.

A man is made

By the wars he chooses to fight

And the people he fights for,

Service,

Defines him better

'And a woman,' he replied

'Is defined by the service he inspires'

I’ve worked hard and for years for this PhD and in one fell swoop this idiot ruins it! Now I have to go through the trouble of having to call the school and seeing about getting a new one. Damn it! I have a mind to give her a stronger dosage. Keep her sedated so that she doesn’t cause trouble. It wouldn’t be ethical, but it sure would be sweet revenge.

Genevieve Burke, of course, would do no harm, but she did blow off steam from time to time. She considered this healthy. No matter what she thought, she would not follow through with harming a patient. After her last patient of the day, she went to the lobby of her office building, ordered an Ambergris and relaxed. Just one beer, with a hint of whale vomit and a fruity flavor. She smiled. This won’t diminish my reaction time while driving. I need it. What would my patients think about me drinking whale vomit?

Her tastes had always been slightly different from what others were doing. This pleased her. She thought it made her more interesting.

Once done, she drove home without any incident. At home, she kicked off her pumps and padded to the bath. She decided to soak for a while. As she began to remove her top, she heard a tapping noise. Her bedroom was on the second floor. She couldn’t imagine that it was a person.

I wonder if one of the branches has grown too close to the window? Holding her blouse to herself, she stepped into the bedroom as she stepped to the window. A face looked back at her.

She screamed. This caused her to lose her balance and fall onto the bed. With her blouse forgotten, she looked intently, but he face was gone.

There is no way that someone could levitate to the second floor. Just trees. Trees and the parking lot. No neighbors in sight. It had to be a trick of the light.

“Must have been the whale vomit.” She spoke to disturb the quiet, it helped to bring her back to her senses. She raced to the bathtub and shut off the water. Too much. I’ll have to drain some.

The rest of the evening went without incident. She went to bed early.

Prospect:

Promise

of gain.

***

Create.

Others

label.

***

Relax.

Come back.

***

I can’t clasp the light inside my mind

until I let go of anger’s dark shadow

echoing in bottomless well of the past.

I’m swilling poison but expecting

you to die within your hollow walls.

Beneath my acid etched soul

the scars are fading into nothingness,

my broken world is patched with twine.

Buzzards circling must be cast aside

to feast on his rotting meat

as my throbbing starvation reaches

the abyss but decides not to jump.

I will get off the merry go round

of my circling rage without you

throwing away my jar full of tears

taking out the trash of fury.

My hatred will no longer sleep

with the enemy of bygone days.

"I'm convinced you are the one for me."

"This isn't the first time you say so."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again."

"One time is enough for me to believe you, and every time after helps strengthen the catapult. The day it launches me towards the moon, I will have a greater chance of landing upon its surface, rather than falling short and making a home among the stars. There is nothing wrong with doing so, but my loyalty lies with the moon because it was undeniably right when it said that you were somewhere out there talking to it too on all those lonely nights. I've said it before and I'll say it again, never worry about annoying me, and confidently allow your sweet nothings and confessions of love to become broken records. I am empowered by them far beyond words could ever express."

I never know what to believe, and this distresses me. 

I'm sitting on my patio. Another Saturday night, another Cappone and Rum and Coke. Instead of late night convos with my sister, I've been having these conversations with myself. It's not that she doesn't understand; I just can't summon the strength it takes to accept her bad with her good. And maybe she isn't able to do it for me, either. 

There's a tremor in my hand as I flick the ashes from the cigarillo onto the cement. I was told that you shouldn't inhale cigars, but I've gotten into the habit of doing so. I never understand why I end up smoking and drinking. I hate the taste in my mouth the next morning, and it always makes me nauseous. 

Maybe it's just one of my many self-destructive habits. I have an ambivalence about my life's value. I should just die, I think. No, it would hurt people. Death usually hurts others. I should wish that I would cease to exist. Melt into this patio floor and have everyone's memory of me disappear. 

How can I want that when I'm afraid to disappear? I'm afraid I will have no impact. I'm afraid my death will be the same as ceasing to exist.

I cross my legs and inhale deeply, imaging the black smoke swirling in my lungs. It adds to my rotting insides, to the sludge and tar festering in a pool of negativity. 

I slowly exhale into the night sky. Out of the few things I enjoy, this is at the top of my list. Crisp spring nights, a clear sky, and a spattering of stars across the sky. Peace and solitude.

I pray out of habit because, despite everything, a ball of hope sits in my chest. Maybe that's good enough.