Only God knows all the tears I've cried

May never all be dried

But they splatter to the ground instead

Where a lonely seed lies dead

When the summer's leaves now shattered lay

In winter's slow decay

There they seep beneath the crusty earth

Where seeds await rebirth

But only tears locked away inside

May be lost when never cried

Surely God knows those ones we've finally wept

Will waken seeds that slept

And after winter's long and chilling storms

They'll sprout again when spring is born

I would rather that you remember me as ... stout and self-reliant in personality- yet, at times, feeble in whole.

Remember me as the person who weeps,

As well as the person who speaks-

with the pitch of a roaring Lioness.

Remember my feet as they ran- frighten by the shadows I stalked in, yet, striding to anew found freedom, foreign to me.

Remember the moments I gave, the moments I shared ... the moments I stole ... But know I wasn't wrathful, I was not a label.

I rather you not remember me as a pained, frighten child- forced to age into a broken void of a lost woman.

But, remember that I blossomed into the strength I saw as weakness, into the pain I saw as shackles-

And remember ... I'm not the formula of current and old burdens- I'm not the mistakes you see;

I am a Human.

I am a Woman.

And I am Me.

What is life

Without death

But a period of 

Wasted time

#life #death

Red blossomed upon his white t-shirt in the form of abstract art. It then slithered down his body and onto the wooden floor of the secluded home. My heart raced as he stumbled backwards; falling into the mattress as we watched.

He landed upon his back. His bright blue eyes losing their luster as he stared aimlessly into the emptiness of the ceiling. The fan spun slowly above our heads, causing my hair to lightly wave in and out of my eyes. My stomach felt sick and threatened to forced my food back up. My mouth was now filled with saliva.

His breathing was uneven. Each breathe sounded painful.

"Damnit." Giovanni whispered as he looked over at him. "You didn't get his heart. You got a lung."

My eyes moved to him. His words bring me back to the reality of things.

"Wa-what?"

He huffed and put his hand out. "Give me the knife."

I looked down at my hand. I had forgotten it was me who had done this. I was the one who had plunged the knife into his flesh and threw his bones. My body began to tremble and I lost my grip. The knife fell at my feet with a thud as it came in contact with the wooden floors.

Giovanni sighed as he bent over and picked it up. He walked over to the dying boy and studied him.

"Yeah, you stuck a lung." He held up the knife and without a warning plunged it into the body.

A small scream slipped from my lips as blood splattered onto my face.

"That's the heart." Giovanni said; to no one in particular.

The heavy and painful breathing had ceased. The air became still and silent. The pungent order of the crimson liquid and cigarette smoke lingered in the thick air. I touched my forehead and looked at the blood that would stain my hands forever. My breathing became heavy and my thoughts flustered. I soon found myself on the back porch vomiting over the wooden railing.

The toxic mixture of stomach acid and digestive fluid poured out of my mouth in chunks. The river of spew slowed to a stopping point allowing me to breath. I greedily filled my lungs; sucking in the pungent air as I broke into a cold sweat. My hands shook lightly as I sloppily wiped my mouth clean.

Giovanni walked out onto the porch as rain threatened to fall from a sunless sky. His olive skin appeared flawless against his blood stained white shirt. He ran a quick hand through his thick black hair and sighed as he pressed his palms onto the the splintered wood. He looked over the wooden railing as I tried to get myself together.

He placed a gentle hand upon my back and soothingly stroked back and forth. I looked up at him like a child hungry for guidance. I needed some reassurance; some comfort.

"Breathe." He spoke softly now. "I'll take care of everything." He added as I slowly wrapped my arms around his slim torso. "Here." He broke the hug and held me at arms length. His hand fished into his pocket and retrieved a light brown leather wallet. He took out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to me. "Go into town and pick up some garbage bags, a mop, mothballs, and a twix." He tucked my hair behind my ear. "It'll be gone when you get back. Just try to calm down."

I bit down into my lower lip. My eyes closed for a few moments as I nodded. It all happened so fast. I felt his lissome fingers as they lightly lift my chin. My brown eyes met his hazel ones.

"Clean yourself up." He said. "Get something for yourself from town if you'd like." He let go of me and opened the door; allowing me into the cabin first. "Be quick. Be discreet."

Within a few minutes I found myself behind the wheel of his old red pick-up truck. The redolent scent of his cologne mixed with cigarettes within the small cabin of the truck. I drew in a few deep breathes before starting the car and pulling onto the dirt road.

Twenty minutes felt more like forty on that drive into town. I felt as if every passerby could see right through me. Every tree and even the clouds in the sky knew exactly what I was hiding. Every bird threatened to spoil my secret and rip me out of the comfort of my partial denial.

I parked in the partly empty parking lot of the Food Depo. The lot was almost always vacant; with little to no people within its grounds. I turned the key and rested my forehead upon the steering wheel.

"Calm down, Pierce." I whispered to myself.

I took a few deep breathes before sitting up and getting out of the car.

The shopping list Giovanni had given me was very short. It shouldn't have taken me long to get everything, but my body was partly paralyzed with anxiety and fear. I felt as if all eyes were on me. Everyone knew my secret and they saw the blood on my hands; and yet still I pushed the small plastic cart and continued to pretend like things were the same. I acted as if I was still innocent and ask if Eric was still alive. I acted as if Giovanni wasn't in the cabin taking care of a body and as if I wasn't buying things the aid him. It was simply easier this way; in ignorance.

#horror #red

          I used to tell myself that I would wait until marriage, and even then, a part of me chuckled. I was horny as all hell before I even knew what horny meant. All I knew was that it felt good down there when I pressed against my pillows, and if I did it for long enough, it felt even better. It was a few years before having to use a tampon for the first time and discovering that I did, in fact, have a vagina (it wasn't exactly a profound moment of femininity but more like a huh, who knew? moment, like finding a hidden pocket in a jacket you've owned for years), but I didn't need the details to know that sex must have been awesome.

          Thanks to hours of unsupervised television-watching and hours of heavily supervised church-going, I eventually learned two things about sex: it was a shameful sin and it made babies. Since I was too young to differentiate between sex with a man and sex with a pillow, I felt pretty guilty humping my bedding after that. Yes, I thought masturbating would knock me up and send me to hell, and yes, I still did it. Once I came to terms with basic biology, I promised to hold off on sex until I got married. After all, my body belonged to God, and it was my job to keep it pure for my future husband. My virginity was absolutely a tangible thing that mattered. Losing it would lessen my value and betray a person I had not met yet. At the least, my pledge to purity would cancel out all of that sinful pillow time.

          I lasted until my 18th birthday, which I think is pretty damn good. How was I supposed to resist a Hawaiian varsity wrestler if I couldn't even resist my own hand? We teased each other for weeks, fooling around in the bushes behind the firehouse, in the boat parked in his garage and whatever dark corners we could find. His hands were bolder than mine, groping everything they could before someone inevitably tracked us down. When it came to being stuck between abstinence and hell, there were strong cases for both, but the longer we were alone together, the cozier eternal flames seemed.

          One day, the house was empty, and I took that as a thumbs up from God. I laid on my back with my ass hanging off the edge of my twin mattress and my legs spread, a position I now know as The Pap Smear. He stood over the bed and slowly pushed into me, one centimeter at a time. I remember wondering how far he could go before it counted. How deep was the sinful part of my vagina? After a few inches, I decided I had to have lost my virginity by now and that I wasn't about to be damned for getting prodded like my temperature was being taken. I lured him onto the bed and hopped on. I rocked my hips back and forth until it felt good enough to burn in hell for. It was exactly like humping my pillow, if I ignored the penis lodged inside of me,

          There was no blood, no popping, no stinging. I didn't see the face of God, nor the gates of hell, so I considered that a win. Hours later, I could still feel him in there, not in a romantic way or a painful way but kind of like a phantom limb.

"It was a pretty tight squeeze, but it didn't hurt too bad."

"That's good, next time I'll try going in all the way."

"Jesus Christ."

          The next morning, I was disappointed to find that I looked, felt and smelled exactly as I did as a virgin. I wasn't expecting much, but a little acknowledgement would have been nice. There was no updated information on my license, no stamp on my wrist, not even an "I fucked" sticker. Hell, give me a scarlet letter, just don't tell me that after all the hype, all I got was a sore pussy and a temporary limp. I tried my best to feel like a sinner, but I couldn't get what Jesus was so upset about. This was what he wanted me to wait for until my wedding night? This was what I was going to hell for? Murder, I get, but this?

          I didn't know it at the time, but carnal floodgates had been opened. There was no time to be timid, I had used all my patience waiting. From making love by the ocean under a meteor shower to banging some dude in the parking lot of a gay bar in Vegas, sex became whatever I decided to make of it. As for my virginity, my purity, my innocence, I didn't lose shit. I may or may not have had any of those things to begin with, and if I did, you'd have to dig a lot deeper than my vagina to take it away from me. So between me, God and that Hawaiian wrestler, the first time I had sex was the moment I realized that my body was mine to enjoy without apologies.   

Look here Chickie:

Cool it on the sass. Nobody likes a know-it-all.

Also, stop plucking your eyebrows. You look surprised all the time.

Yes, you will need math later.

Call your grandma, preferably today. Trust me.

Weighing yourself is stupid. Stop doing that.

The hot guy downstairs walks around his apartment naked.  Do with that what you will.

Buy stock in Apple.

Slim Jims cause heartburn.

You are always going to suck at public speaking. It’s fine.

Stop smoking, get a mammogram and cross your fingers.

You will hide to cry at work.  So?

Parking in parking garages is not for you. Above-ground it whenever possible.

Like some sort of panda, you can only get pregnant on a Tuesday between noon and one thirty.  Plan accordingly.

Running? Not so much. You can jog. Or walk.  Let's face it, you're going to walk.

Be nicer to your mom. She loves you.

San Francisco is a moldy, dank town.  No one tells you this, you just inevitably find it out when you go apartment-hunting.  I'd had enough of mildew, of damp, of shitty windows that don't close.  The woman who met me at the door was posh--tall, lithe, expensive hair.  In a low voice she ran through the details--lots of light, storage in the attic, but do not, repeat, do not descend to the basement.  I was so grateful for a warm, dry bedroom that I nodded mutely, willing to agree to anything.  She seemed unsurprised at my lack of curiosity, only raising a sculpted eyebrow as I hastily wrote a check.  The rent was shockingly low.  The keys felt good in my hand as I left.  I could not have been happier.

That is, until about 2am, when I awoke, disoriented, my air mattress sighing angrily as I jumped up from the floor.  WHISTLE.  CRACK.  Over, and over.  Maybe an old furnace?  WHISTLE.  CRACK.  Nervous, I turned back to bed.  What the hell could that be?  I tried to apply a rational answer--probably old plumbing, shifting as the temperature dropped overnight.  Yeah.  Plumbing.  I fell into fitful sleep.

Every night, at the same time.  A thin whistling sound, and then a sharp crack.  Sometimes haunting moans.  Finally I mustered up my meager courage and 

tiptoed out into the shared hallway.  Louder here.  It sounded like it was coming from downstairs.  Worried, I hesitated.  The landlady's words reverberated.  But I couldn't take it anymore.  The stairs were steep, dark.  My footsteps were muffled in plush carpeting, and I watched my hand reach for the knob on the door, my heart thundering in my ears.  WHISTLE.  CRACK.

I pushed the door open a few inches with tingling fingers.  Low music, soft lights.  In the middle of the room stood the landlady, thigh-high boots and red lips, flicking a whip expertly in one hand.  WHISTLE.  CRACK.  At a sleek bar behind her, several women lounged, cat-like, watching her with heavily made-up eyes as a young man removed his shirt.  Her eyes met mine as she raised an eyebrow. "What took you so long?", she purred.

Bound to chains

That do not make the slightest sound

Was he

To her love

To his fantasy

He craved her touch

No matter how much it burned

Her lips soft

But sharp

He soon learned

The chains

They would not brake

Nor did he want them to

But yet

Those chains would still shake

She laughed

As he screamed

But he loved that curve

It was sexier than it seemed