12.1.2014

"Embrace your foe and become his friend. Become someone he absolutely cannot survive without, and then stab him in the back and walk away."

Note to Self

The sad truth is that there really is no going back. No reliving the carefree days of our youth. No recapturing the warmth of that first love. No returning to that time in life when things seemed simple and calm and happy.

This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Sure, those days and circumstances are gone forever. Still, always lamenting the present and idealizing the past will only lead to a constant state of disappointment. Look to the future, and do so with the knowledge that obtaining the past is impossible. Remember those moments, cherish them in your memories, but do not expect them to repeat.

People change with every minute of experience. Even if transported somehow into a treasured memory, it won’t be the same, evoke remembered feelings. In the end, disappointment will always follow. That’s why the future is so precious. There is always hope that, somehow, things will become better. That no matter how many times we are broken, changed, and still hurting, maybe just the simple knowledge that our circumstances will eventually change is enough.

The past is gone, the present is now, but the future is a possibility that has not yet been tossed aside. We cannot go back, but we can push forward.

Who Cares?

When my legs were stolen
Right out from under me
I made new ones all by myself
And donned my mismatched socks

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

When pushed down into the mud

I jumped straight back up again
I spat out the dirt and grinned so wide
And raced off to play some more

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

Followed by some shouts and yells

I simply turned around and ran back
Watching them scatter from my charge
Not slowing down until I gasped for breath

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

If I was left behind, I skipped around happily

Singing as loud as possible and then finding
So many adventures others missed out on
By following the path only I could ever see

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

Exodus

It’s past the time
When the curtains rose up to thunderous applause
It’s past the time
When the audience wept and laughed to see me

Now is the hour

When all the pages of this story are inked in
Now is the hour
When the paper’s glued and tightly bound together

And in a little while

What will I think of how I behaved before?
And in a little while
Will I still feel so exposed to my very core?

A few years from now

I’ll be laughing again, and I’ll feel so carefree
A few years from now
Everything new will be the fresh breeze I need

Some more time later

Maybe I’ll be brave enough to think on the past
Some more time later
And not cringe from all these memories of mine

When it’s finally over

The tears I should have shed will eventually appear
When it’s finally over
And I’ll heal from the pain I’ll now let myself feel

Remembering the past

Will be like looking at someone else’s life history
Remembering the past
The plot still recalled but the sharp details blurry

Looking back inquiringly

Maybe I’ll admit this life was damned worth living
Looking back inquiringly
I’ll finally tell myself I did okay and won’t be lying

So from now on

Perhaps I’ll even look forward to all my regrets

From now on

10.30.2014

“Everything’s subjective, even the passing of time.”

Build Up Those Muscles

Better that you laugh
when faced with danger
than to cower (in fear)
from the truth.

We are told (to lie)

often that we must be
brave and strong, but
reality is fear.

Strength is acceptance.

Origins

From the beginning,

I knew you were going to wreck me

And I let you.

From the very start.

From those first moments,

I saw the tears that would pour

Down my face.

From the first glance.

From the first touch,

I felt then the pain underneath

Something sweet.

From that first kiss.

From your first joke,

I heard the sound of distant scorn

Echo through me.

From that first laugh.

From our first fight,

It pained me that my love would

Slowly become hate.

From that first shout.

From the first words,

You spoke all these pretty words

That were empty.

From your first lie.

From the first meeting,

I greeted you knowing eventually

You’d leave me.

From the first hello.

From the beginning,

I knew you were going to wreck me

And I let you.

From the very start.

From the very start.

the sting lasts for days

the bite of the mosquito
is quite a sharp pain
small danger for a brief life

The Shadows Series Preview

Chapter One

---

It’s not even the ghosts that are the problem.

Two months ago, Alex was horseback riding with her neighbor along one of their favorite trails. Something spooked Pepper, the bay mare suddenly halting before she swung to the side and took off into the woods. All Alex remembered after that was a blur of trees, the horse between her legs, and then nothing but open air. She was flying, then falling.

And then she was drowning.

She fell into the creek, hitting her head. If it wasn’t been for her neighbor following closely behind and pulling her up out of the water, she might have died.

As it was, her dad worried enough after that for three people, forbidding her from getting back on a horse for at least a month and wanting her to stay home from school for a week. Alex would have been more annoyed at all that if she wasn’t so worried herself. Not about almost drowning, which she didn’t remember anyway. It was the ghosts she could suddenly see everywhere that were the problem. At first.

Alex didn’t know why she kept their sudden appearance a secret, except that she didn’t think everyone freaking out even more was going to help anything. Besides, she didn’t even know if they were really there. Maybe hitting her head was causing her to hallucinate. Still, it really wasn’t a problem for her after a couple of weeks. She slowly became very good at completely ignoring them.

No, the ghosts, while unexpected, weren’t the problem. It was the other things she could now see that were disturbing. Alex didn’t even know what to call them, the dark, formless shapes she sometimes saw hovering around other people like detached shadows. And even then, maybe she wouldn’t have started to worry so much if she didn’t begin to notice that the longer one of them surrounded someone, the more of whatever they were sunk into and beneath people's skins, slowly covering them completely.

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Book One of The Shadows Series - The Advent - is now available here on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07P1B7LX6.

To Exist

Why does everything have to die
to burn
in order to be reborn from the ashes?

This endless cycle of life, it’s futile
to live
when we see nothing can stop the end.

So why is it that we raise our heads
to fight
and move on forward, refusing to stop?

Maybe we find that it’s enough
to hope
to forever struggle, despite everything.

The Echo Within Me

This pain is small, and temporary,
but it’s my whole world right now.
It’s inside every breath I take, and
carried with me when I’m awake.

Every laugh contains a sharp edge
to catch in the base of my throat.
And when I smile I cannot help but
wince. Even happiness feels numb.

Even when I’m asleep, dreaming,
I run and fight but I can never find
you. Your voice still echoes through
my soul, the reverb never leaving me.

Lost Colors

The grass is lush and green.
The sky is a cloudless blue.
This summer’s day is beautiful.

I hate it.

All food turns to grit and ash.

The world now grey and dim.
Because you are no longer here.

Another Turn

The sun is brighter and the rivers dry up
Summers burn hotter

Even the winds are fiercer and the mountains shake

Winters grow colder

This planet will rend and tear, and have its revenge

And destroy us all

The Whispers

Whispers. I hear them in the darkness all around me, and I wonder what they’re saying. But I don’t listen too closely. I know that if I hear their words I’ll have to obey. I’m still so curious though. If I listen, what mysteries and secrets will I learn? Maybe everything. Or nothing.

My mom says it’s time for me to grow up, and to stop believing in such silly nonsense. I’ll tilt my head to the side sometimes, without realizing it, and she’ll know that I’m hearing the whispers. I try to stop. I go out with friends, play some sports. I even date a little. According to her, there’s nothing unsatisfactory about my life, which could cause me to still make up imaginary voices to talk to.

So why are the whispers still always there?

Did You Know?

Sometimes
I feel like the world’s stopped turning
Sometimes
When I remember you smiling at me

Sometimes

It was all so simple when we were younger
Sometimes
Everything was beautiful when looked at by two

Sometimes

We used to laugh so freely back then
Sometimes
And sing such silly songs together

Sometimes

Everywhere we ran, an enchanted forest to explore
Sometimes
You made me braver than I ever was alone

Sometimes

But the spell is now broken, we’re at an end
Sometimes
I look in the mirror but don’t see the face you loved

Sometimes

Have I forgotten what it means to be happy?
Sometimes
Trapped as I am, my life put on hold for you

Now and again

The only sighs I give are ones full of regret
Now I know
My heart’s turned to dust, and there’s nothing left

Sometimes

I wonder who let go first, you or me?

A Unique Flavor

Real thunder and lightning storms
Always smell of blood.
The taste lingers on the tongue.

Speak No

There are some conversations that I can never hold with you again. Once we crossed the line from friends to lovers, an empty hole was created between us, and many topics were sucked into its depths. This hole grew into a deep chasm from which nothing can escape. Even now, after time has passed and we’ve both grown enough separately to come together as friends once again, that gap exists. Those unspoken words are still there. We will never be able to shrink this space or eliminate it, but I thought perhaps we could stop it from becoming deeper.

Now I know that we can’t, because all that we’ve never discussed in the past was simply the precursor to all we never bring up now. And so the number of unsaid topics between us grows. It will never stop. Our friendship will one day end. Not because we took a chance on falling in love with each other, but because neither of us have the courage to reach into that breech and grab hold of some long-ago hurt or complaint and bring it out at last into the light of day. Instead, we stay silent to spare each other’s feelings, but especially to spare our own. And so between us the silence speaks ever more vociferously over time.

8.5.2014

“Selling your body does not make you weak. True weakness is selling your integrity, for any reason. Even worse though is convincing someone that because they are weak, they are worthless. Worth is not measured in weakness and strength, but in cruelty and compassion.”

And So

If I cannot be a pretty and delicate bird
Then I will be a tough and fierce wolf

If others cannot admire my graceful wings and bright colors
Then they will fear my sharp teeth and wicked claws

If I cannot fly up
Then I will run forward

And never ever stop

Waiting for Nothing

When I was a little girl
I thought life was sweet
When I was a little girl
I thought love was real

Now I think I know

That nothing ever lasts
And now I can recall
I used to be happy, long ago

But that time is far over
My summer days have waned
And where I once shouted out
Purely in my joy and laughter

That’s all over now
That’s all over now

I used to dream of a different time
But it never came
Success, fame, and riches would happen
Because they were something I deserved

Now I know there’s nothing
The future is here and it’s bleak
Once I looked forward to tomorrow
Instead, now I’m just clutching my sheets

What happened to me?
Where did I go?
Who am I now?
I’m lost without my dreams

Time

Butter-grease yellow in old

Age we sit, toothless and bald.

Our bones make a nice baby rattle,

Craggy hands swinging on Death’s

Mobile. The rust-red nightlight

Shining bright.

Beware not the end.

            the beginning.

Satisfaction

It is not painful
The knife sliding through my ribs
As you smile softly

Refuse to Regret

No time for goodbyes
No time for that last moment
The world is at an end

And it’s raining
Yes, it’s pouring down now

No time for final wishes

No peace is to be found here
No last, tender kiss

I think I’m going to die soon and I love you
I think I want all the rest of my moments to be with you
I push you away because I don’t want to hurt you
But I need you here so I can picture your face in these final seconds

I think you should know that I love you
More than I ever dreamed was possible
I think you should know that I waited all my life 
For you

And then I found you
A week before I’ll die
And it was worth the wait

Thank you for giving me this time
With you

Untitled Prologue

August 15^th – year and place unknown

---

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I could choke. I am choking, spitting colorless bile into the cup of stagnant water sitting next to me on the polished end table. The two mix, and I know with a sudden clarity that nothing will ever separate them again. 

You knew. You always knew what was going on in my mind, even when that insight was the last thing I wanted. No, particularly when it was least desired. But really, you shouldn’t have interfered. I told you not to, but you’ve never listened to me. Still, I am truly sorry for what has happened between us, for the brash and truthful words said, words so full of venom they dripped acid on their way from my mouth to you, your mouth to me, leaking into the carpet and soaking the house with enough poison to rot the walls from the inside out and leave the shell of a festering corpse in their wake. I would have liked this to have ended differently. Indeed, out of anyone in the world, you are the one person who knew me best. We could have had a future together, could have been happy in our simplicity and ignorance. 

No, I’m lying. I could never have lived that way. Neither could you, I know. I could read your mind as well. That’s how I knew you would be here today. I knew you couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t let you do it though, couldn’t let you interfere. I’m sorry, my beloved, but really, once you learned her secret, you should have known that you had to die. I just don’t think either of us realized that I would be the one to kill you.

Everything’s all right now. It’s already happened. Sometimes, the past truly does override all, even the future. There’s no undoing it now, and really, I’ve never felt so at peace. Now that you’re gone, I never have to worry about her again.

Yet, now I find that I cannot live without you. It’s funny, isn’t it? It should be. I thought that slicing into the visible, vulnerable, viridian veins of my wrists would be easier than this, but the knife isn’t as sharp as it could be. There, it finally goes - the blood. I’ve always felt vaguely sick whenever I was bleeding from a large wound, but this pain is too sharp, too intense for me to feel queasy. I suppose I should be thankful for small favors. 

I hear laughter. Is that me? I sound like a demented man past his endurance. All that’s missing is a background whirl of machinery, booming thunder and flashing lightning, and- 

Oh, wait, that’s not me after all. It’s you.

There is a Cost in the Knowing

It aches sometimes.

(This is a lie; it aches all the time.)

The sad thing about being told to pursue your dream is that, most of the time, our dream fall flat before our feet as we slowly begin to learn our own limitations. I’ve had many dreams over the years. Some were entirely outrageous, and I knew so, even if it was only a little voice in the back of my head acknowledging that my flight of fancy was just that: unrealistic imaginings.

But then there were those dreams that evolved with me, with who I gradually became as an individual. Those dreams were an integral part of me, because I grew around their shapes and shadows. If I’d never had those dreams, I would not have pushed myself in the ways that I did, my branches wouldn’t have twisted into their own unique form.

Once those dreams all died, one by one, so too did my shape. Until all that was left was a dry, empty husk, my trunk charred, the smoke still rising from the burnt ashes enclosing me on all sides.

The thing is, those few who are molded by their dreams and go on to achieve them are full of branches that are lush, thick, full of wick. While I remember the magic garden of my childhood, where all my dreams were planted in an orderly row, others continue to carefully prune and pluck and sow all their lives.

I don’t have that option.

This is a difficult reality to come to terms with. I’m not saying that I am done growing as a person. Far from it. I believe that we evolve each day, hour, and minute until our lives expire. Maybe someday in the future my tree will have lovely vines wrapped around the trunk. Maybe from the ashes of my branches a green moss will grow. But vines are a parasite, and moss a fungus, and I will always miss those branches that were my own, not thankful for a symbiotic relationship that grew out of the ashes of my defeat.

I know my own limitations. I know the heights and depths of my own soul. It is not pretty. Nor is it ugly. It is special, and wonderful, but it is limited. I know who and what I am, and what I am capable of, and I know now what my true dream is. The final dream, the one that you discover has been there all along, and you will never want to do or be anything else. It is the absolute centre of my soul, and utterly unattainable.

Ashes spread at my feet.

Yes, it is a specific sort of despair to know that who you were born to become is forever out of reach.

The Mirror

No heartbeat, no breath. But still, something stirs, is alive. Shadows mate with shadows to form what lies on the edge of nightmares. This fledgling is like all children and tests its boundaries, stretching and molding its own shape through time. No thoughts, no voice. But still, it speaks, opens its mind to each new experience, to the glimpses of freedom. Gradually, want begins to stir, true desire, and what does one desire most but something just beyond one’s grasp?

Know that when you stare into the darkness, it looks back. And it’s hungry.

Keep Falling

Every raindrop is unique
A single note from a song
That rings in perfect harmony

Forever

I suck, it’ll never happen
Quit now, go down in flames
I’m tired, ‘cause I’ve never really tried
Not ever

Run, run, run, run

Fast as I can, pick up my feet
Run, run, run, run
‘Till I burn out, won’t be long now

Dreams and hopes and wants and wishes
Sprinkle fairy dust, watch it disappear
All ambition and no drive, so smart
But I’ve never lived a day of my life

Run, run, run, run
Give me some space, I need to blame someone
Run, run, run, run
No smacking me down, ‘cause I’m already crawlin’

Regret all my life that I didn’t stumble
‘Cause there’s nowhere to trip me on this flat, barren plain
Think I’m the best, think I’m the greatest
And ignore the desperate screaming inside my head

It’s so loud!
No, no

Run, run, run, run
Fast as I can, pick up my feet
Run, run, run, run
No smacking me down ‘cause I’m already crawlin’

Run, run, run, run
Life is a joke, but there’s nobody laughing
I’ve been so damn afraid
That I’ve never done anything

Not once in my life
Not once in my life

Until now

Falkor's Luck

To those who are lucky enough for old age to have come upon them (slowly, and yet also in the blink of an eye), do you remember being young? Thinking that you had all the time in the world to accomplish your dreams and seek out the mysteries of life. What is it like? To know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you have come to the end of your life. Are you tired of living? Do you want more time?

How will I feel if I am ever lucky enough to see the ruins of our time?

Pretty Poison

The dog starts barking
And the wolf howls back
Winter has come at last

Fly free, little bird. 

Soar away to the land
Where snow never falls

But while you sing, beware

Of false promises from the
Man just behind the curtain

The Man Whose Name is Carl

The last thing Carl had wanted to spend his evening doing was waiting around one of the smaller rooms off the lobby until they had confirmation to go load up the merchandise from warehouse eleven into a truck and then haul it back here. The night air was chilly this late at the best of times, and if he bothered to turn his head slightly to his left he could see that frost had already formed a thick layer on the windows even here downtown, never mind by the wharf.

Still, Carl found himself staring blankly at the rather large screen in front of him, not taking into account what was actually on, but just letting the low sound wash over him as he thought longingly of being home sound asleep in his bed instead, his wife’s light snoring in his ear as her hair got caught in his mouth or up his nose. It’d been over three weeks since he’d been home early enough to eat dinner with her and their daughters, to hear how everyone’s day had been, to argue about whose turn it was to wash the dishes or just to sit in front of his own TV, a beer in hand, and not pay attention to his own set as he listened to nothing in particular.

“Want something?” one of his coworkers asked, stuck here late like him, and Carl looked up at Luke to give him a slight, tired smile.

“Nah,” he answered, waving a hand at the vending machine in the corner that housed a variety of sports drinks, flavored waters, and energy shakes. “Not in the mood for anything but a bed.”

Luke sighed in agreement, and made his selection. “Know what you mean. These late night shifts when the shipments come in kill me.” He opened his drink and took a long swallow. Then smirked. “And if they don’t, my girlfriend does when I finally get in the door.”

“She stays up?” the last member of their moving crew asked, coming back into the room from making a call to check on his babysitter. Carl knew George was raising a small boy by himself, the mother having run off with a younger man before the kid was out of diapers. George hated these long nights more than Carl and Luke combined, hated having to ask a babysitter to stay over practically all night and hated not putting his boy to bed, but the overtime they got paid during these few weeks was worth the hassle, just barely.

Carl was surprised himself. Sure, sometimes when he crawled into the bed it woke up Patti, but she barely did more than grumble and roll over. At that time of the night, after a full day at her own job and being the only parent in the house to sort out whatever their daughters decided to argue about that day, there was no way his wife had the time or energy to stay up waiting for him to come home.

Luke snorted, but was still smiling slightly. “Sets the alarm for when I’m supposed to get in, and then hits the snooze if I’m not there yet until she hears the car pull up. Then she comes out to berate me, heats up some food, sits there and yells at me some more while I eat it about how stupid it is to sign up for these graveyard shifts just to earn a few extra dollars that we really kind of need, and then makes me take a shower ‘cause I ‘smell like a bloated fish.’ Then I finally get to go the hell to sleep.”

Carl laughed lightly. “I think my wife’d smack me upside the head if I suggested she do the same,” he replied wryly, and George snickered. Luke saluted them both with the rest of his drink and then chugged it, tossing the empty can into the trash, where it missed widely enough that he and George laughed louder at the scowl on Luke’s face as he grudgingly stalked over and picked up the can again disgustedly.

The beeping of the intercom caused Carl to motion to one of the others to turn down the sound on the TV, even though it was already quiet enough to barely hear. Pressing the button on the side to talk into it, he cleared his throat slightly. “Yes, sir?” he spoke into the speaker.

As usual, the woman’s voice that came on the other end was perfectly clear, and sounded as crisp as though her day had started four hours ago and it was not the middle of the night. “The chairman says that the merchandise has now been unloaded from the docks. Please retrieve all the boxes in warehouse eleven and deliver it to storage room seven.”

The same instructions as every other night, and Carl was actually kind of impressed that the woman didn’t sound as bored saying her instructions as he was of hearing them. Pressing the button again, he replied, “Will do.” The line went dead and the intercom silent. He turned around and shared an exasperated look with the other two, shaking his head. “Come on, then.”

“So eager to freeze,” Luke grumbled, but only halfheartedly, and then they all left the room, glad that the last week of this season’s shipments was almost behind them.

---

Carl froze with the doors to the warehouse only partially opened, and ignored for the moment the quizzical looks he was sure Luke and George were sending him and each other behind his back. He was the one with the key, and so he was the only one of them so far who could see that their day, or night as it happened to be, was not going to go as planned.

Inside, through the small opening, Carl could see the gleam of the delivery truck’s headlights on the polished wooden floor of their employer’s personal warehouse. The light bounced off of a fluorescent bulb that had escaped from the ceiling, its plastic casing surprisingly not cracked from the hard floor, but one side of the bulb was darkened and dim from the damage of the impact. A sheet that he knew was normally used to cover the merchandise was half-draped over the bulb, as though it had slipped off a crate and fallen there. He could hear the vents in the walls heating the building to keep the merchandise inside from freezing, could see the spirals of warmth escaping now from the opening he was standing in front of, could even feel the warmth himself through his coat and on his face.

What Carl couldn’t see or hear was the merchandise, because it wasn’t there. A hand on his arm brought him out of his frozen state, and he turned his head mechanically to look at George, who was trying to glance around him. “What, we got a double shipment or something?” he asked, peering into the opening.

“It’s gone,” he answered. It wasn’t much of an answer, he knew, but Carl couldn’t seem to get his brain to work, the shock of finding the warehouse empty still making his thoughts and movements feel as stiff as a frozen corpse.

“What’s gone?” Luke asked, still behind both him and George. “Can we hurry up and at least get into the warehouse? It’s freezing out here. That wind coming off the water could turn spit into an icicle.”

George, ignoring both of them, opened the doors a little wider, and then turned back to Carl quickly in panic. Instead of the shock making him slow, George looked like he was about to jump out of his skin and run as far away as possible at speeds only an Olympic sprinter could match. “He means it’s gone,” George sputtered. He yanked his hands away from the door suddenly, as though afraid the metal would burn him. “The place’s empty.”

“Oh crap,” Luke blurted out, as he realized what George was saying, which was milder than what was running through Carl’s head but still summed up the situation pretty well. Luke strode up to where they were and peered through the gap as well, like he needed to see it to believe that their job really had gone that badly. Not that Carl could blame him.

It was a few minutes before any of them were willing to talk again. George wandered off, and Carl knew he was lighting up another cigarette. He was trying to cut back, usually only had the one before they left and then one after they were finished before heading home, but apparently their entire warehouse full of merchandise turning up missing was enough for the man to have another. It was almost enough for Carl to ask to bum one off him, even though he didn’t smoke. No time like the present to start.

When George came back, Luke reached over and pulled the doors closed, even though he’d wanted in there earlier. Carl looked at him askance. “We could at least warm up a bit before heading back,” he pointed out. Heading back wasn’t something Carl really wanted to think about too much; he could see the pink slip now.

But Luke shook his head. “Shouldn’t touch anything until police go through there,” he muttered.

After a second, George nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, Carl, they’re gonna want to call the cops about this, try and track the stuff down. Let’s just get back in the truck and explain what happened.”

He sounded about as enthusiastic about that as Carl was, and no doubt Luke was too, but Carl knew they were both right. He sighed, reached over to the padlock and locked it up again, not that it’d done much good anyways, and the three of them piled back into the truck, where at least there was a heater, and Carl started driving back to the company, agreeing with the quiet cursing he could hear from Luke in the seat behind him.

---

An idea came to him about halfway back, and he knew the other two were going to protest, but Carl figured there was no need for all three of them to be the messenger about this screw-up.

“Look,” he finally ventured, once they were pulling into the garage for the trucks, “why don’t you two just go on home, alright?” Naturally, they both looked at him like he’d confessed to stealing the merchandise himself.

Luke shook his head. “Of course not, man. Ain’t like any of us did anything wrong. We’re all grown men, I think we can survive the trip in the fancy elevator to tell the boss his stuff got stolen.”

George patted him on the shoulder as they got out. “Seriously, you didn’t think we’d let you feed yourself to the wolves while we scurried on home, did you?”

Carl snorted at that image in his head before speaking. “If it’s nothing, then there’s no reason for all of us to go up,” he pointed out reasonably, and then shook his head when George opened his mouth again. “Nah, listen. I’m the guy in charge of delivering the merchandise, I’m the senior employee, and I’m the one with the keys to the warehouse. They’re not going to hear anything from you two that I won’t already be telling them myself.”

He turned his head to Luke. “Get home early and turn your girlfriend’s alarm off so she can sleep through the night for once.” And then to George, “And tell your babysitter she can sleep in her own house tonight instead of on your lumpy, old sofa.”

They argued about it for another few minutes. George had been on the job almost as long as Carl, although he hadn’t signed up for the overtime hours until later, and Carl knew he felt just as responsible as Carl did about this mess. Luke looked like he was only protesting because George was after the first minute, but he still didn’t walk away until Carl had convinced them both that he was fine with delivering the news himself. After those few minutes though, both of the guys gave him nods of appreciation and started walking up the ramp to where their cars were parked on the level above. Carl turned instead to the door leading into the main building.

---

The ride up the elevator was too silent. Carl had half been expecting corny music to be playing, or some boring news station or something, but there wasn’t a peep. It occurred to him partway up to the top floor that it was still the middle of the night, and that the chairman might not even be in right then. Probably wasn’t. In fact, why was Carl wasting his time going up this elevator in the middle of the night when it was likely no one else was still here? He could be on his own way home early right now, maybe in time to catch enough sleep that he’d be awake before Sarah and June went off to school in the morning.

He’d almost convinced himself to push the floor for parking instead of stepping through them when the doors opened, but something made him sigh and get off the elevator to check. Pride in his job, maybe. It might not be a very exciting career, being a mover, not something he’d wanted to do with his life, but it was still his job and he had an obligation to inform his employer when he couldn’t complete his job, even if common sense told Carl the building was empty and that the merchandise would still be stolen in the morning.

There were lights on, and he could hear people talking to each other, or into phones, as he stepped out into the room. Huh. Apparently, the upper management of the company all turned into night owls or something during shipping season. Explained why the woman over the intercom always sounded so awake.

A little nervous now, but more relieved that he could just get this over with and go home knowing one way or the other whether he would still be employed in the morning, Carl walked over to the chairman’s outer door and knocked.

There was a pause of voices, and then the door opened. A woman, professionally dressed in one of those business suits most women who worked on top floors wore, looked at him in mild surprise. “Is there some kind of problem?” she asked.

Carl knew immediately from her voice that this was the woman he’d just been thinking about, who gave him orders on the intercom, and that she was giving him a look that said she knew exactly who he was and couldn’t understand why he was at the door instead of doing his job. Carl sighed internally, but simply said, “There’s a problem with the merchandise. Could I speak to the chairman?”

He got a raised eyebrow from her, but she nodded and ushered him into the office. “Wait just a minute while I tell him you’re here,” she replied, and then walked to the other end of the room, knocked lightly on the door there, and stepped through. Carl looked around while he was alone, but other than a picture of what looked like the woman and someone who was probably her sister on the desk by the computer, there wasn’t much else to look at. There was a spreadsheet open on the screen, but Carl didn’t really care enough to look closer and see what was on it. Some filing cabinets in the corner, and a few generic pictures on the wall, made up the rest of the décor.

The door on the other side of the room opened again, and she ushered him through without speaking, closing the door behind him while she stepped back into her own office, leaving him and the chairman alone.

Carl had never talked to the chairman in person before, only over one or two phone calls, but even in that short amount of time he’d come to understand the other man wasn’t someone who wasted time on anything but business. He’d barely started walking over to the desk and chair on the other side of the spacious room when the chairman started talking.

“What’s the problem?” he asked. His eyes were surprisingly sharp, and there were quite a few papers covering a large portion of the desk in front of him, but the chairman had set his pen down and seemed to be giving Carl his full attention. He wasn’t looking at Carl like he was a lesser person because of the differences in their job titles and salaries. In fact, Carl found himself liking the man, and wished he had better news to share.

Rather than waste any more of the man’s time, he responded in the same direct way and answered honestly. “The merchandise was missing.”

There was silence in the office for a few moments, and Carl tried not to sweat as he stood there and just let the man gather his thoughts. Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Tell me what happened.”

Carl shook his head. “I don’t really have anything else to tell you,” he replied, apologetically. “We got the call from your assistant to pick up the merchandise from warehouse eleven, and everything was locked up as usual when we arrived, but when we opened the doors the place was empty.”

“Who has the key? Was the lock busted, or look tampered with? Did you or the others actually enter the warehouse?” The questions came rapid-fire, the man obviously upset, and Carl blew a slow breath through his nose before answering.

“I’m the one who was issued the key,” he admitted, feeling like he was signing his own resignation, and pulled the key out of his pocket to demonstrate and hand it over the desk to the chairman. “And no, nothing seemed wrong with the lock. It even locked back up like it’s supposed to when we left. All we touched was the lock and the doors, and we didn’t even open them all of the way,” he explained. “We thought we shouldn’t mess anything up for the police.”

The chairman nodded, looking thoughtfully calm now, and Carl held his breath. So far, the other man had seemed much more interested in getting information from him than blaming Carl for his warehouse being robbed. He began to relax, thinking he’d be spared his job after all.

The gunshot took him completely by surprise. He looked over at the chairman, but the man’s eyes were still calm and composed, and then he looked down at the puddle dripping onto the carpet beneath him. Suddenly, the office tilted and went fuzzy. And then he couldn’t see anything.

“…that’s fine.” Carl could still hear the other man talking, dimly, like a song coming through a bad station. “Yes, get the other… as well. Make sure they didn’t… anyone else…” He tried to listen, tried to speak, tried to think. “No, just like we wanted… Move the body… we’ll call the police… insurance will…”

He couldn’t understand whoever was talking. Carl thought dimly about how much he wanted to get home and crawl into bed next to his wife. He was so very tired.

Lilies

Only once during the year
Do the flowers bloom
But the roots grow forever

Forget Limitations

Dance
In pure joy or sadness
Out of relief or fury

Scream
At the top of your lungs
In despair or celebration

Cry
Because you can do nothing else
While giggling or sobbing

Laugh
When your feelings cannot be contained
Bursting out in disbelief or amusement

Be Free
To express your emotions
And not stifle what makes you human

Fight On

The truth is, I long for apathy. For true depression
To creep up and seal me deep inside a thick layer of ice.

To be utterly encased and cold and deadened,

Unthawed to the very center of my being.

Sadness is too sharp; this pain is killing me slowly.

And maybe I’m giving up at last. For what I would

Not give just to stop feeling for an instant. I’m sick

Of fighting myself... Maybe that’s cowardly of me.

Maybe that’s the only way to win.

Flux

All light is born from the blackness of a sun’s core,
Just like hope is born from despair
Or kindness from the coldest indifference
If just one slight circumstance is changed.

This pattern is no coincidence.

All life must first emerge from death,
And so, all things must eventually die.
There is no real beginning, and no end,

Only a point in time where you stop and

Cease to exist as you are, and become something
That might be lesser than you were, or greater,
But it is the process itself that is of vital importance.

The Illusionist

A woman walks down the street
She looks killer in those heels
Heads turn and eyes burn
Just to catch another glimpse

What do people see when they look at me?

Am I someone that they fear, or who they wish to be?
What do people see when they look at me?
Am I strong, am I weak, or something in between?

Short skirt or black jeans, it doesn’t matter

Motorcycle jacket slung over her shoulder
Drives a Mustang with the top down
Her hair loose in the wind

What do people see when they look at me?

Am I someone that they fear, or who they wish to be?
What do people see when they look at me?
Am I strong, am I weak, or something in between?

Sunglasses on her face, her eyes mysterious

Red lips and nails, no glitter anywhere
Stalks the streets so untouchable
No problem gettin’ a cab

What do people see when they look at me?

Am I someone that they fear, or who they wish to be?
What do people see when they look at me?
Am I strong, am I weak, or something in between?

Am I burned out already?

Can’t seem to move my feet.
Want to push until I shatter,
To soar until I crash down.

But what do people see when they look at me?

Am I someone that they fear, or who they wish to be?
And what do people see when they look at me,
Is she strong, or weak, or something in between?

5.31.2014

“I have only recently become wise enough to look in the mirror and realize that I don’t know the person staring back at me. That is the first step.”

Be Careful

Do not ask me if I’ve ever loved anyone else.
If I have ever been kissed by lips, or touched by hands, that are not your own.

Do not prod me for remembrances from my childhood.

Of who I wanted to become, and all the great feats I wished to accomplish.

Do not tell me of places you have traveled, of the vast wonders you have witnessed.

When you felt free and exultant, and grateful for the sheer pleasure of being alive.

Do not plead with me to share the rest of my life with you.

To hope for a future together, a shared dream, a life forged by two.

Accept that I am here with you now, and that for this moment, we simply are.

Twenty-Eight Syllables

The tears won’t fall.

Instead, this pain sits in my chest.

It’s small, but sharp. I can
Feel the jagged edges cutting deep scars.

The Elephant

It is a potential that we both know will never come to pass.

You and I will never be more than we already are to each other. You belong to someone else. I belong to no one, and never will. What is between us is silent understanding, shared memories, and unconditional support.

We are nothing together, and never have been. But still, the potential lingers. It waits in the periphery of our every interaction. Neglected, but always acknowledged.

We could have been everything together, if only we both weren’t so different, have completely opposite goals in life, not even our beliefs similar.

Yet, we are also very much alike. If we’d tried, we would have been wonderful together before we were torn apart by reality.

Really, it’s fortunate that we never made an attempt. The inevitable failure would have broken us both. We didn’t need to experience that particular pain in order to understand how devastating it would have been.

No, the regret between us is not this decision. We don’t regret refusing to make a choice that could only lead to eternal pain. Our regret is in knowing that we could never work out, and so we didn’t even get the chance to try.

We regret our wisdom that forever left us caught in a potential that will be forever unfulfilled.

Sincerely, The Damsels in Distress

To All Knights in Shining Armor:

Why do my hurts need to be fixed? Why can’t I just stay broken? What’s wrong with me not being whole? I have no desire to strive for perfection; it doesn’t exist anyways. When I vent out my problems, I’m not looking for you to solve them. My tears do not mean I’m pleading with you to repair anything.

Why can’t we talk about our failures, even with those supposedly closest to us, without them readying to leap to our rescue, to solve our troubles? If I need your help, I will specifically ask. Otherwise, assume that I am broken beyond repair, and do not want pity, only your silent presence of acknowledgement that I exist. Broken, whole, or shattered in pieces - I am here and you are standing with me, and that is all I really need.

4.19.2014

“Boredom often leads man to do what questionable morals would not.”

The Bridge to Felicity

Go away:
            The toothpaste and little hairs left in the sink.
            The toilet not flushed and seat still up.
            The mouthwash put back in the wrong place.

Go away:
            The dirty clothes strewn all over the floor.
            The dishes that pile up unheeded.
            The bed never made the right way.

Go away:
            The habits that bother me.
            The noises that annoy me.
            The ideas that irritate me.

Go away:
            To be free.
            You stayed.
            I left.

Atlas on Her Knees

Often, I consider how I’ll pass my first night when I finally get my own place. I will close all of the curtains, turn on all of the lights, and then I will curl into a ball and cry while I review every pain from the last decade or so that I’ve kept locked down deep inside and haven’t let myself feel for fear that I will completely shatter past the point of recovery. To me, gaining a home means being safe enough to finally feel free to have that breakdown you’ve been scheduled to have pretty much your whole life.

But that time isn’t now. In the present, it’s all about breathing out one heartbeat, and then the next, an endless repetition in order to continue a cycle of surviving in hopes of reaching that elusive tomorrow.

Sometimes, though, I’m so fucking tired of waiting for ‘someday.’ I want that day to be here already. It’s so exhausting, having to hold myself together every second, knowing that if I relax my grip for even a moment I’ll snap, and then a future really won’t ever come.

It’s hard to always ignore the little voice in my head telling me that maybe I just don’t deserve to have a future.

Can I at least just have five minutes to completely freak out without the momentary lapse resulting in lasting consequences that I can’t afford right now?