

I just don'tI just dont want to break something so pretty. I dont want to be shattered emotional by something my logic cant measure in precise quantities. Something so beautiful has to be a mirage meant to poison me mentally, pull the preverbal pragmatic rug out from under me. I dont want to sully something crafted so elegantly I cant bring myself to wreck a body that does nothing but elicit sensations within me by a power that rivals deitys decree. A lord in its self that spurs creation out of me. A light that thinks its self as dim,I just don't


A soundA Sound -In the room with no heater she woke up slowly.-A sound
Its not like she was crying. No, they werent tears unless they had been called forth by some sort of monumental grief, and she knew nothing of that sort of thing. Grief and tears were for widowed mothers. Incomparable sadness was for runners who lost limbs, bankers who went bankrupt. That type of feeling was for men who couldnt feed their children on too small paychecks. No, this was defiantly not a feeling for someone so young, a child, herself.
There was no such thing as meaningful


I Hate ItI hate it.I Hate It
Her face is forever ignorant of anger’s distortions. It’s always been so. Even when I know I’ve done wrong, I’ve incensed her; she has never frowned before me. Her teeth have never ground against each other in anger, never has she raised her voice, or berated me though barred teeth.
Quite the contrary, she speaks in those low civilized tones. Nice and even with an acquired nonchalance. Her body will slow down, blinks linger, as if subdued by her own emotions. Ones that should inspire her to be fiercer, instead she falls back on y


Across The TableAcross the table, I’m looking at another me. His movements are planed, his laugh is forced; as if being here is some catholic sunday school nightmare. Yet, even with that in mind, I smile as courteously as possible. I shrug off the coolness of his blank stare and grasp at the first inconsequential topic that breezes though my mind. In blatant disregard for his comfort, I wade through stories of my previous escapades in hopes of eliciting some such story from those pressed lips of his.Across The Table
After moments pass, I find myself wondering why I’m allowing my own lips to flap incessantly. I know he’s not listening. Sighing deeply, I st