Just a Stain

He is a paper cut, and an annoyance to her
and he sits gently on the webbing between her fingers.

She has a picking problem too,
especially when it comes to her hands.

He recites quotes from movies like Good Will Hunting and American Beauty,
but he screws them up on purpose so they seem like his own.

She steals lines from her friends when they least suspect it
and turns them into beautiful poems.

Together though, they have this dance that they trip through
that only feels elegant to them.

Everyone else dances around them in sync. No one ever looks directly at them
because they both have too much clout in this redundant town.

She thinks she's leading but then he drags her hand through a pile of salt.
She will dance with others yet he is the only one that still steals.
She has had deeper wounds yet he is the only one that won't heal.

It's beginning to rot now,
and nobody likes the smell either.

I stand at a safe distance
and watch the lesion that he is grow in size.

Pieces of flesh are left where ever they sit,
as they discuss the world and how they'll change it.

He scabs up and she picks at it
leaving the room a mess.
I tell everyone to ignore them
simply because we all know
it's just a pissing contest.

Cold Wet Bones

You are not here... in the future I mean.
You're not here now and you won't be here then.
You were around in the past but barely at times.
I was around at all times.
You don't look very brave when I talk to you.
You think bravery comes from standing against the horizon
while the waves are speeding towards you.
You, with your arms out and your head hanging low, knee deep in the saltwater.
You never looked like someone to crucify but we're the only ones here most of the time.
My arms don't hang as nicely as yours either.
My head doesn't weigh down on my chest.
You don't look very brave when I see you.
You think bravery is screaming angry words at the snow covered mountains
instigating an avalanche.
I think bravery is standing next to you, who is quicker than the waves and colder than the snow.

Silly Blunders

She sat sitting indian style with her chin resting in her hands. You could tell how involved she was in the crossword puzzle she tore out of the morning newspaper.

It was the only reason she ever bought a newspaper.

I pretended to get dressed, read email, change the light bulb that's been out for a few months now, but I was only wasting time to keep looking at her. I thought she had caught me at one point, and I'm not saying that I wasn't allowed to look at her...I just didn't want her to know how involved I was in her so soon.

"6 down, Consider an imaginary animal? Three words, letters are 4,2,4. Any ideas?"

I didn't understand the question but only because I was caught off guard.

She said it again, verbatim, "Crossword puzzle, Chris. 6 down, Consider an imaginary animal? Three words, letters are 4,2,4," but this time she said it with comedic impatience.

I asked, "Oh, well...do we have any letters helping us out?"

She motioned for me to come sit next to her on the hardwood floor. We meant to carpet it but we just never really got around to it.

She pointed to the puzzle to show me the letters, "I have a B, an R, and a D."

B _ _ R
_ _
_ _ _ D

The missing letters kind of seemed to fill themselves in for me.

"Consider an imaginary animal. Bear..in..mind. Bear in mind."

I'm not really sure why but it wasn't very hard for me to figure out the clue. I just assumed it was a lucky guess.

She held in a smile and wrote in the letters as she moved onto the next one, asking me for more help,"Ok, next one, Ones who never think of flying? One word, 10 letters, no letters filled in yet"

"Autopilot! I mean..autopilot." I couldn't control my excitement at another correct answer.

She looked at me again, suspiciously but content. She asked me if I did this puzzle before. I told her the truth and said, "No, I just think you and I are like a right hand and a left hand, ya know? One washes the other."

This time the look she shot me was the kind that agreed with me.

"See? That is why we keep each other around... to fill in the blanks," she followed.

I laughed and smiled but all I could think about was the time I spelt her name wrong minutes before she said goodnight.

The Downside of Never Losing Your Mind

The feeling is indescribable but I'll do my best to convey it here.
Once the thought enters the brain it's like a steamroller going 60 mph, destroying every other thought in it's way.
First, as soon as no other thinking can take place, it settles into the nerves inside my head but without regard.
Loud, obnoxious, and fairly difficult to get rid of, it is one of few thoughts that can send a man to his knees in pain.
Sometimes it creeps up disguised as nausea, other times there is no question as to what's happening.
A type of hurt accompanied by heat and anger and rage- rage that fills me from head to toe.
I can almost picture it, feel it, as it spreads through my veins. I would assume it is much like when a few drops of food coloring are dropped into a still pool of water. It’s a slow spread that brings on a rapid heartbeat.
It's the feeling that you lost but without grace. No friendly handshake, no better luck next time, no respect.
It reminds me that I was stolen from but also that it was my own fault.
It makes me wish bad things on a select few people I've never met, never seen, and on a few that I know all too well.
It's like a front row seat to watch someone you love get curb stomped.
The abilities of this one thought have shrunk my waistline more than a few times.
I'm sure that I am not alone in this feeling though. At least I know for sure the unlucky of my friends have had the same thought creep into their brains.
I've seen it take over their minds, I've seen it turn the mellow into the manic, I've seen it create vices. Some spend time in the hospital, but those are the weak. I find it's best to grin and bear it, clench your teeth, and remind yourself that you don't spend your nights alone either.
Do not try to outsmart it though. Do not try to pull a fast one on your own brain.
It creates a slippery slope once you delve into it with your fists full mast. You will regret voluntarily keeping your mind on it for any longer than needed. It can hit you at any moment but when it does take yourself out of the situation and just try not to vomit. Let it run its course, but be weary that it will return. It comes and goes as random as the weather. I assume it will still be one of my last thoughts when my bones are brittle and I am gray.
It is the downside of never losing your mind.

Alarming Me

I somehow slipped through the cracks in the floorboards
Through a small hole in the fence
And this feeling I get is alarming me

I can't keep living with my back against the wall
It makes me feel like I've haven't got a back at all
And this feeling I get is alarming me

Reminded by someone who reminds me
Of a younger me, carefree, without the subtlety
And this feeling I get is alarming me

I can't quite make out what I've been trying to say
If it were up to me the smile on my face
Would never be taken away
I hope you would understand

I've got a healthy home life I've been trying to save
Selfishly, but my heart's in the right place
But it still makes its mistakes
I hope you would understand

Tucked away in my pocket is a list of things
But I just don't have confidence in these wax wings
And this feeling I get is alarming me

Shutting my eyes to feel some of the things I cannot see
With all of my strength, it takes me
And this feeling I get is alarming me

Like a little boy I'll look through every hole in the fence
And I'll be curious until my days are through
And this feeling I get is alarming me

I'd like to tell you a thing or two about beauty and life
About the finer things I find
If you could just forget the real, just find some time
I hope you would understand

Underneath the floorboards I was taught how to smile
What it's actually like to be high
And where to go when you need to feel alive
I hope you would understand

Fire Eating Man

There is a match being held inside my chest, right below my breast bone.
Every bite and sip is like gasoline running down my throat.
Dehydrated and a bit delirious I've been laying in bed with my imaginary friends.
An inconsistent fever peaks at 101 to remind me that I'm burning alive from the inside.
Spontaneous combustion was a suggested reasoning but the burn is too slow to be considered impulsive.
No amount of water relieves the pain, especially when it's being pumped through my veins.
I screamed at the doctor today, "Call the fire department, send help! I'm spilling my guts and they're covered in blisters! What is it that you don't get?!"
You can see the glow illuminating behind my skin from the outside.
I haven't been coughing so the match is still lit and I won't stop my mouth from screaming until there is smoke pouring from it.

Just Know I've Been Underwater

I sat there, underwater. With all the time I once gave up weighing down in every direction, I lifted my hands from my lap using every bit of my strength. They moved slowly from the pressure surrounding them, from my lap to my face. I went to dry the sweat from my forehead but it was only by habit.

So I sat there, underwater, with all the time in the world passing me by in a few short, desperate gasps of airs. I couldn't see more than five feet ahead of me but I managed to take hold of the few blurred rays of sunlight slicing through the salted water. These few slivers gave me a few days of life, if I could use them sparingly. My grip was stronger than ever before, my fingertips scored and they held on tight.

As the sun retreated, taking it's arms of light with it, it lifted me slowly from my watery rocking chair. Each hour that crept by brought me just that much closer to the air above me, but the nearer I rose to surface the darker it became. The once secure rays of light, that at the time felt like the worlds strongest hands, began to loosen their grip on me. If I could feel my sweat, this would be the moment that it would become alarming to me, but I wasn't letting go no matter how dark and unsettling the situation grew.

I wrapped the fading rays of light around my wrists to take a better hold. They were the only light left. The stars didn't show, no lighthouse was in sight, these beams were saving my life without either of us realizing it. Time wasn't on our side and my lungs were starting to feel it. I felt lightheaded, delirious, and I'm sure I slipped in and out of consciousness a few times. I shut my eyes for what seemed like a few seconds, to try to regain a sense of reality, but I forgot to open them for hours.

I woke up to the sounds of birds but like as if I was having a nightmare, gasping for air, and sun burnt. The sand I felt on my knees was a sensation that I had not felt in so long that it almost hurt to touch. I looked at my hands, the same hands that took hold of the sun. They looked like they had belonged to a hundred year old man at this point. My skin felt heavier and weighed down on my bones more than I remembered but I was surrounded by air for the first time in a long time. I began to shiver but it made me smile. I took a breath, I was alive but the water made it abundantly clear that it had left its mark.

With You and You Alone

I rather spend my time with you
Than discover a new color
I rather spend my time with you
Than leave for a part time lover
I rather spend my time with you
Inside my chilly home
I rather spend my time with you
With you and you alone

I rather spend my time with you
Than find some buried treasure
I rather spend my time with you
Than fly like a feather
I rather spend my time with you
I hope I've made that known
I rather spend my time with you
With you and you alone

I rather spend my time with you
Grow old, big, and fat
I rather spend my time with you
If you could deal with that
I rather spend my time with you
To build a home of our own
I rather spend my time with you
With you and you alone

Now if I spend my time with you
Would you spend yours with me?
We'll throw our caution to the wind
and drift away at sea.
Please let me spend my time with you
We'll help each other grow
We'll spend our dying days together
Just you and I alone

L.F.S.N.

Walk a few stone throws away from where I rest my head half of the time and you'll find yourself standing in front of the tallest woman I know. I speak figuratively obviously but you would completely understand if you knew what I knew. A delicate frame built of steel, and smoke, and one that's reinforced at the shoulders. The weight I complain of on a daily basis could be tossed a mile high by her and she'd let it fall to pieces just to show the onlookers how untroubled it would make her. It would rest on her back in a neat pile, separated by index cards to keep track of how much weight is actually hers and how much belongs to everyone else. So far she has provided me the path to a love, a lesson in standing up straight, and hours of honesty that I would have otherwise lied about. Find her, talk with her, learn something.

Increase Your Intake, Decrease Mine

Keep your arms at a distance that allows only your fingertips to brush my face.
Bat your eyelashes on my cheek, act like a flytrap and make me feel their teeth.
Take tiny pieces of me to leave everywhere you go.
Insist that I still look great regardless of my plummeting weight.
Lose my voice for me so I can't scream and make it known for all to see.
Keep those goddamn hands away from me.

Stay On My ship, Burn With My Belongings

As it lowered into the water, miles away, I wonder if the sensation of heat that suddenly swept over me could be from the flame's warmth reaching shore. And at that moment, that is when I began to worry the most. There just wasn't a possibility that the blanket being draped around my shoulders was from the fire so far away. The wreckage floated every which way as the ashes trailed behind just before they fell into the sea. It seemed to burn for hours before completely disappearing from my view. I watched from the sand as it moved in any direction the wind chose, wondering if the continuous breeze would put out the flames in a just-in-time type moment, but the gusts only kept the wreck moving and never made an attempt to put an end to the burning. Just-in-time passed but I was relieved that the horizon ate the fireball before I could witness the moment of sinking that eventually would occur. As the realization that the warmth I had felt earlier was more than just a warm front sweeping in, I felt myself let out a sigh. It was a change of heart that came unexpected and now I'm stuck and left reflecting on things I thought to be so romantic but romance it just turned erratic.

When I Grow Up

I am not the smartest man alive. I've never claimed to be anything of the sort. The majority of the time I rather know less than I already do. As time has taken aim and taken hold of our ankles I've become jaded, lost a few passions and countless friends, and the amount of smiling on my part has greatly decreased. I've never stood alone on that fact though. We've all forgotten about how important the lines around our mouths are. They never stood a chance against death and taxes though, and when you have someone like Ben Franklin reiterating the fact it's not hard to lose sight of the moments that leave imprints on our faces. When and if I marry it will be to someone who is in direct competition with me to collect more laugh lines, and more crows feet than I can. When we were kids we were told to eat an apple a day, get plenty of rest, and exercise. But now, the apple's looking a bit rotten and I'm sure some of them have been poisoned. The amount of rest I get never seems to be enough and I can't help thinking it's because of the constant angel I sit on caused by the bulge in my back pocket. And exercising has been dumbed down to filling out forms and sipping on our favorite drinks. I'm proposing an idea though in regards to exercise. Instead of racing each other to the finish line, let's race each other to laugh lines. I've stopped caring about how full my head is or how fat my wallet is, just fill my face with wrinkles because I can't hide from Uncle Sam and the Reaper is hardly grim to me.

Poison and Water

I am composed up of a nasty mixture of poison and water.
The sip you take to quench yourself will be the same sip used to slaughter.
It drains out from every pore on my skin.
It floods from my eyes, my mouth and my grin.
The combination of the two has covered me in a rash with a silent itch.
Once I lost my footing my mind followed and it's been that way since.
I cannot control when it is one or the other,
or when it's both of the two working together.
The combination of the two has covered me in a rash only I can see.
But I am unaware of how long it will take to finally kill me.

Canvas Conditioning

Attached strategically to the canvas that covered her bag was where I ended up. I hadn't shined so bright for quite some time, until I had that canvas backdrop as direct support. I stood out in a box full of dull pointed earrings and mismatched buttons from centuries we could only read about. Laying buried underneath fake silvers and fools gold, I did all I could and made myself visible. Just enough to tap on her curiosity and enough for her to rummage through the old mess and tangles of garbage, just enough to spot me. So now I'm beginning to settle into this new spot I seem to be pinned to. So now I travel with her but only when it matches her ensemble. Things haven't been much better so I look on the bright side of things. At least I'm around and sometimes I can catch a glimpse of sunlight to see what's been going on lately. Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like to be attached to maybe a mailbag, or a backpack of some nature type enthusiast, or even on the collar of some spoiled girl's shirt. The places I think of when I pretend I'm not pinned to this canvas are lovely visions of fun and new sights and smells, but... I never really was much of a traveler, and I've never been too into the great outdoors for extended periods of time, and come to think of it I would never know how to stand out to someone who could have anything. Everyone, every once in a while, will glimpse over to the other side just to see how much greener things might be. But a quick glance is enough for me, my side's been green, dark green, light green, brown-green, florescent on occasion. At least it's consistent green, it's just in a different light than most understand yet. I'm happy with the canvas against my back now though. It's far beyond patience, or naivety, it's passed ignorance and bliss. It just is what it is. I figure, I've still got potential to become a part of the everyday ensemble, where I could be pinned to any bag she decided upon. Either way, she rarely loses things so I consider the canvas is exactly where she meant to put me for the time being.

Self-Inflicted and Shipwrecked By Science

I thought about all my belongings I must have left on board and how unsure I was now sitting and watching from shore. It was a miscue on my part and I now wait in hopes that the ship I left to sink will be blown back towards me. I sang my sorrows, mixed 'em up with some hope for tomorrow, the same hope that I begged to borrow. I sang and sat and watched.

Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile. The ship I came on I set on fire.
Bigger eyes, with a nicer smile. The ship I abandoned sinks on fire.
Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile.

It sounds far less charming when the melody is exiting my mouth though. It only goes to show that I'm far less aware of the truth behind Newton's third law.

No wonder why every time I tried to get higher I would only go down and every time I thought I was moving forward when I was only stepping backwards. Physics seems be the one thing that could turn this around.

Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile. The ship I came on I set on fire.
Bigger eyes, with a nicer smile. The ship I abandoned sinks on fire.
Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile.

I hit the books with that song in my head and began looking for an answer as to why physics could not explain the sensation of flying I am constantly feeling that only increases when you are around.

I am an object in motion and accordingly I am to stay in motion at the same speed and in the same direction unless I am forcefully acted upon by an unbalanced energy.

It is hard to explain the eagerness to change direction when everything looks great at a constant speed that never seems to skip a beat. Along with that, in order to justify the patience it takes just to put my feet back on the ground is not worth the argument if I can't argue against science.

Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile. The ship I came on I set on fire.
Bigger eyes, with a nicer smile. The ship I abandoned sinks on fire.
Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile.

Wide Awake With the Enemy

The sandman is a woman and she's got a crush on me. I plan on taking advantage of that in every way I can think of. She told me how lonely things get at night, while everyone waits for her peaceful touch. She asked me to call her Cassandra but I won't call her anything and it seems to bother her. We met some time ago by coincidence she says, but I can't remember how it happened. We spend hours in the dark together only because too much time spent alone can bring out the weird in people. Neither of us are very weird in comparison to our friends though. She came by the other night to grab a bite to eat. I didn't have much so I offered to take her out but we never leave my room. We've mastered two-player solitaire.

The Cannibal Above

A few nights ago, while everyone else in my life was lost in a dream or fully taken over by rapid eyes, I listened to the sounds of a sky in doubt. I'd lost sleep before but hardly ever because of anything outside my windows. Usually it was everything inside that kept me awake. The doubt crept in any time silence seemed to take me over onto the other side. It came as waterlogged tapping, some in time, most came randomly though, taking jabs at my windowpane. A strong breeze in disarray swept through my bedroom and left just as violently, throwing and scattering everything worse than ever. It threw my shades against the molding of their windows but there was never anything for me to catch to hold onto. The blue filter didn't even bother to come around yet to wake the birds and the birds, they normally acted as a distraction to everything else going on. They cut ties with me after a few mornings when I clogged my ears with cotton. I think it's selfish of them to be completely honest. Most of all though I think it was selfish of me to stay awake long enough to eavesdrop on a sky in it's most private of moments. It was the night I heard the sky begin to eat itself alive.

Beneficial Weeds

Sprinting side by side at full speed, I kicked up every dying dandelion I could see, as our sandals began to cut and blister our feet. Allergies were attacking us at all sides. Now along with the high, comes puffy eyes and sneezing fits. We paid no mind, and just basked in our time. Breathing patterns in sync, only off in times when one of our smoker's lungs kicked in and we voluntarily were forced to give in. Each flower we collide with guarantees next season to bring genetically identical, if not worse, allergies but it also gives each of us a chance to make a quick bunch of wishes in a short span of time. Sprinting side by side at full speed isn't always easy breezy. It feels like a time machine during moments of fatigue. At times when you can't feel your feet or during steps where we forgot how to speak, the time machine begins just in time to relieve. It takes us separately - reminds us what all the running is for. Sometimes we go back in time to help us remember where we've been going. Other times we're given a chance to stop in on the future, to rest, to dream, and to think of the next patch of weeds we'll run through.

To Start a Snowball Fight

Please stop.
Please.
I can tell when a person is lying 9 times out of 10.
So, I'm giving you the chance to gather your thoughts and start over.
Stop before you strangle yourself with your own words.
As your tongue weighs you down, I stop listening almost altogether.
I pretend that I'm watching you fumble, trying to carry the excess slab of flesh that hangs down your chin.
It collects dirt and gravel as it rests on the floor, as it drags behind you, as it leaves a trail of saliva-like-debris that mirrors a slugs.
The residue shines as I look at it. It's shiny, rainbow tint keeps me amused enough to keep listening though.
I'll make an attempt to change the subject in a few seconds to give you another shot at leaving this conversation behind us. You won't take it.
A combination of my ADD and the various other conversations going on around us are in your favor.
No one gives credit for multitasking anymore. I can walk and chew gum, but I can't expect an award for it.
You say something about a friend of yours, or a friend of a friend of yours, or maybe about something you heard an expert say. I'm an expert sometimes, do I ever get quoted mid-chitchat?
You mention that you can't decide if you agree or not with what you're even saying, so I better give you a reason to keep talking because I still have a little time to kill and you're pretty.
"Really? That's insane. What else happened?"
My foot is falling asleep, the guy behind you shouldn't talk to his son that way, I have to try to remember to get the results from my blood work back, and I have no idea what you're talking about at this point.
Pins and needles start at my foot, make their way up my leg, through my chest, and settle into my brain.
Pins and needles fit the mood perfectly. They aren't life changing but what an annoyance they can be.
The original lie has now snowballed and it's picking up speed as it rolls down your exaggerated tongue.
I feel like I should get out of the way before the on coming collection of bullshit barrels over me.
Here comes your last chance to redeem yourself so we can start over.
I'll look away for a few seconds to let you know I'm losing interest, only to come back to ask what your name is.
"Crazy stuff. I'm sorry, what was your name again? I'm terrible with this stuff."
Your name is irrelevant and I remember it just fine.
You tell me your name and follow with, "I'm so rude! Here I am talking about me and I don't even know your name or where you're from or anything!"
I smile, pretend to laugh, and tell you, "Oh it's OK, I enjoy listening and learning. My name is Jack, I live in Jersey but grew up in California."
My name is Chris, I've never stepped foot in California, and the truth will never matter to either of us, simply because it's more fun and easier to keep playing along.
You look at me while smiling and say, "Why, hello Jack, it is nice to meet you."
As you think of what to say next, you keep giggling and looking into my eyes. It makes me feel uncomfortable but it's OK because I'm impressed by your own multitasking skills.
I say something about my time in California and relate it back to our conversation, the snowball fight begins.

And a Heart like Pagliacci

The grinding teeth
And lack of sleep
Bring nothing but anxiety

Sandman, I plead
I'm on my knees
Fill my eyes with sand and dreams

Now, if I may,
I won't disobey
But if you leave and I'm not asleep
There will be hell to pay

Follow through
I'm warning you
Show your face at the same place
You left me some months ago

Merman

I look better on paper. I just wanted to let you know before you keep reading.
I'm much taller in person too. Not like I used to be but I can't stop shrinking.
There was a time that I would walk into a room and take a panoramic look over everyones head.
I was taller and stood up straighter. Circulation was better when I displayed good posture.
It helped out with the monopoly my heart had on the blood in my body but mutiny took place and now there are strict regulations regarding blood flow. My brain missed the meeting and my heart just doesn't get enough to pump the way it used to anymore.
My conscious was most likely keeping it busy from noticing what was actually going on.
For a while, in my life, I would never be a room for more than few minutes without locating where and how far every exit was from me at all times.
My secrets had a life of their own. They lived a more lavish life than I did and I began to grow envious. They had their friends and I had mine. The two groups never met.
I remember a day that they fenced me in and I was neck deep in ash and water with my back against a make believe wall.
Self-reflection came quicker than I would've thought so I learned to swim. But there are no exits when you're surrounded by water and I should have noticed that sooner. I slipped up, lost it for a while. My shoulders began to feel the water pressure pushing down on my entire body. It was the first weight that buckled my knees, even without a floor underneath me. I sank but it was a civil attack and my surroundings sank too, providing me with a clean slate.
Who knew I could breathe underwater?

No Artist Within Me, No Telescope At My Eye

Four, almost perfectly symmetric cylinder like pieces, smooth to the touch. All branching off of a waist no more than 15 inches in circumference, all tied together by a center button. Each part tan and each with 5 slender points darting out in every direction. Their tips coated in maroon and their base draped in gold. It felt almost disturbing how long these two colors could captivate me once they are placed together on a tan backdrop. I wanted to walk around and explore each piece as if in a museum. A fifth shape, lying atop the waist on a graceful support beam, finished off the star shaped body. I pictured her as the only light in a darkened sky, with each limb giving off a warm glow, stretched out as far as they could, escaping my eyes reach. I pictured myself lost at sea using this star as my only sense of direction. She would guide me to the place where I were to rest next. The time spent studying this piece of art gave me butterflies. The butterflies escaped my gut and surrounded her, only adding to her allure. Taking myself out of the situation helped me understand the work done to create such grace and elegance. It took my breath away, such a natural phenomenon, and one that boggled my mind. However, I cannot keep this piece of art to myself, as much as I would like to, I cannot. If it were up to me I would never share what my eyes have seen. If it were my decision I would selfishly display it for myself. A select few would be lucky enough to catch a glimpse from afar but none would get to study it like I have. If it were up to me, but it is not.

Bigger Than Bronchitis

There is a full-fledged war going on inside my upper respiratory tract. A microscopic battle between good and evil that I'm trying to mediate but I can't figure out which side I belong on. Battle lines were crossed somewhere inside my trachea. Airflow into and out of my lungs is partially blocked and only getting worse because of the swelling virus infecting me but I really know it's mainly due to the pile of dead white blood cells that the chemical solvents and smoke killed off. The shallow grave of cells is only growing, the man power is too low to rid of the deceased, and the allies are running late as usual. I cannot stop a war that I cannot see. From the outside all is quiet on the western front, but on the inside bloodshed wages on. A man in white listens carefully with a cold, artificial ear that he presses against my chest. He can only do so much though. He assembled a rescue team made up of three distinctively different components that were doing all they could but just couldn't work together so when the man in white wasn't listening I ordered two of the three to retreat and forget what they saw. I blame it on their differing war techniques and tactics. Reinforcements of my own are on their way though, an ambush of tetrahydrocannabinol is next, closely followed by an air strike of norepinephrine and dopamine. Chemical warfare is the only way. Miniature sized bombs filled to capacity with metabolized salts and clarithromycin are being dropped strategically throughout the day. An attempt to clear out any survivors left inside comes as dual flushes of smoke every couple seconds as the aerial attacks make their way around the sife. I cannot remember when this became a kamikaze mission and I will not be held responsible for any collateral damage. I can feel my respiratory system rebuilding itself but it will take time. There is a full-fledged war going on inside and I cannot assume it will disappear for good. There is a new-fledged war building up larger than ever stuck inside caused by a mixture of past habitual mistakes we had no idea about and present day patterns we cannot change, only this time I just can't quite pinpoint where or when the outbreak will begin again.

The Scavenger's Reflection

Around 12:30 pm or so I woke up and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. Usually I would do it in the kitchen sink where it's sanitary but I had slacked off the night before and forgot about the pile of dishes pouring out. The mirror was disgusting considering it wasn’t my bathroom. It was covered in fingerprints and debris from the last few people that brushed their teeth. There was soap still dripping down the reflecting glass but that wasn’t what I was looking at. Instead, staring back at me was squinty-eyed raccoon; unhappy about the situation we had seemed to get ourselves into.

“Was I on acid again,” I thought to myself.

He shook his head slightly back and forth while he scratched at the fur coating his chin, as if to say no.
We just stood there, looking into each others eyes, matching each other move for move, and then counteracting every step the other would take by moving in the opposite direction but still in an identical behavior.

“You know man, you’re really starting to fuck us. What about hierarchy needs? Didn’t think to include me in these times of change, did ya? It’s not even like we have our priorities mixed up, they are completely missing all together. You completely threw Maslow’s theory out of the window and I’m really beginning to think that your right mind should start consulting with me.”

It wasn’t strange that he was talking to me; it was more that I didn’t give my imagination that much credit, nor did I think my personification skills were that advanced.

Before I looked down to splash my face with water I turned off the light.

“Since when do raccoons talk intelligently?”

Weight Gain

I don't know how much of me I am losing to them.
So the knots in my stomach tangle up with the knots in my head,
and the knots in my shoulders begin to feel more like blocks of lead.
The stockpile of weight just collects as I rest,
as I lay up for hours at night in a bed,
so I do all I can and I hope for the best.
Now the weight on my shoulders weighs down on my breast.
It pushes my organs aside as it sinks into my chest
and even after all the abuse my lungs still try their best.
I work each day to lose the weight I collect
and I make sure that I work every chance that I get
just on the off chance I have only a little time left.
So I try to untie knots before I am forgotten or dead.
Every pound I've collected I will strip off and shed,
Every moment now on I will live to attest.
The knots are just knots, and the lead is not lead.
The tangles inside will soon leave your head.
But the more you feel stress the bigger the mess.

Going Away Party

Hopefully the mixture of weed, cigarettes, and beer helped shorten the length of my cold. I'm not too worried about it either way though, that wasn't what got me sick and it wasn't gonna make a difference one way or another. My immune system was slowly broken down by various things; lack of sleep, terrible eating habits, stress. But, I'm pretty sure the thing that got me was the cold car I shared for a few hours and the 10 minute conversation we had standing on her porch. With the wind chill it was probably about 12 degrees. We stood huddled together under the awning of her house wishing we were inside but knew that it wasn't an option. Neither of us moved except to either get closer to each other or to whisper something in the others ear. We would've stood there all night like a statue, a stone cut replica of what was once two living, breathing lovers. Ice would've began to freeze our faces from the beads rolling down from her eyes. Cheek to cheek, our skin would be stuck together. You could hear the wind blowing, barreling over our bodies and whistling through the gaps between our torsos, you could hear our teeth chattering and sharing a conversation of their own, but you wouldn't hear any complaints from either of us. It was out of fear, fear that as soon as one of us move, it may be the last time we would see each other for yet another year or so. So we just stood, like a monument getting worn and withered away by the elements, like a bookmark holding the page of story that was never finished. It felt like an eternity that went by in a little over 10 minutes, the longest and shortest 10 minutes of our lives. I held her hand and felt sorry for those who owned the fingerprints on her body that weren't mine, a years worth of necessary foolishness that mapped out exactly where she had been. I was just as guilty too. I didn't exactly stay put for that year either. I had my own map spread out across my body, down to my hips where most of the prints seemed to gather. However, we both knew that the atlases on our bodies would eventually fade away leaving only one set of prints remaining on us both. They would cover every inch from scalp to toe that only we would see. So we just continued our stand in the snow. I remembered a time when we did something like this once before, a moment when we stood in this same spot but under far happier circumstances, and it made me smile. I wondered if she could remember the moment that brought the smile on. Either way she knows I would remind her if it may have slipped her mind. She began to smile too. For the next few seconds we were almost back to that moment, resting on each other safely in the arms of her home. The wind whistled loud bringing us back to what was actually happening, but we continued to stand there with it all weighing against us. Words were unnecessary and even if we tried to force something out it was masked by vibrating teeth and quivering lips. Just before she went inside the icy weather found it's way deep into our bones but the fire we felt inside was still just enough for only the two of us to know we would never freeze alone.

Fetor Ex Ore

I can feel my heart beat
Pounding through my stomach
As it, as it's been eating me alive
And it always tends to remind
Of the times you took your bites
Out of the my flesh
Oh my god I needed it
Now I hope...you can't get me off your breath
I never told you but I poisoned every piece
Now I hope...you can't get me off your breath

Section B10 on 202

I litter the same winding, rubber abused road almost every day with two cigarettes, one while going and one while returning. As my lungs fill with the last bit of chemical soaked smoke, my fingers thrust the recessed filter out of the window. It gets swept up by the slip stream that's created by the other cars driving both north and south. I try to follow it's path through my rear view mirror but it's path is too erratic and I'm too worried about causing an accident. It tumbles for a few terrifying seconds and it's gone and I will never see it again. The remainder of the drive consists of me wishing I would've sprung for the 100s and the fear that the last bit of cigarette I just tossed is still lit and is now in the beginning stages of a forest fire. I'll worry about it on the way back. The road curves, bends, and barrels through two rival sides of a once harmonic forest. The pavement separates them like a mother would do to her two bickering sons. A few hours will go by until I'm back in my car, smoking a cigarette and traveling in the opposite direction. But, I can't help finding myself excited about being back on the road solely due to that minuscule chance of a massive fire awaiting my return.