Rotting

Tree branches scraping across windows; making wretched noises that sound like scared, hurt puppies. Perhaps occurring in the same place where squirrels are in possible danger of taking the same descent downward that I would be obligated to take if ever I were engulfed in beautifully painful flames. But that's only a hopefully unlikely 'if'. In addition to a fallen dead cat that he claimed was a dog (but I know better. Plus I went (in sorrow) and checked the repulsive site, but shh). It's poor dead body broken and wet; it's rotting process being sped up by maggots (like you) and flies. Lying defaced, denied and disregarded like the trash from Whataburger lying next to it, sharing the same rock. That, plus the torture I endure almost every night I manage to brokenly crawl to the door of the place I once loved. Now when I get in it's like I'm, no, I AM trapped in a(n)  horror movie inescapable life. Called my own. But someone manages to lock the door on my every attempt to escape and only when I can (literally) no longer go without oxygen do they unlock the door and allow me to gasp in the hot Texas air that feels just about as choking as his hands did around my neck one time. Only he kissed me and apologized; this hateful air is so much less apologetic. Along with you. In my dreams. And seemingly out of them (I don't dare say in real life). I hate that my memories are being contaminated like the pollution that makes us stay inside for recess contaminates the air. Or like the water will be once the cat's rotting corpse eventually slips into the pool at the bottom of the currently silent waterfall. Silent. So unlike my tears that seem to be taking the place of that waterfall; running along my contaminated cheeks that will hopefully become clean with help from the dark purple and pink pills. Or perhaps I'm just as hopeless as my scratched window (maybe even like the squirrel that may fall off); trapped in that land of horrors; or rotting away with only maggots to be close to along side that white and orange striped back on a rock at the bottom of a waterfall.


J.

Sugar Plum Princess

As you lay your head, crooked against rough, green pleather, the sun's rays seem to lay their hands around your cheek and caress it like the too rough hands had done so gently. 'And visions of sugar plums danced in your head' but it's not that time of year though you wish you could be the sugar plum princess through every season. But then the light appears too bright in the stereo-typical interrogation or worse yet when you've lost all your marbles. But the light doesn't help you find them, it just reminds you that people are convinced you've indeed lost them; but you actually know where they are, they're just hidden from the spot-light somewhere else and you won't tell anyone, shhh.

J.