i could be someone else,
a beauty queen,
a famous singer,
I could be an artist,
painting mountains and seasides,
making millions.
i could be a tv producer,
sitting in a beach chair and yelling at cast and crew.
But i choose to just be me.
I'm not a beauty queen,
an artistic genius,
or a tv producer.
but i'm unique.
there's no one else who can see through my eyes,
No one has walked two moons in my sneakers,
and that's the way i like it.
my mind is uncharted territory, my soul has never been explored. i'm a...
I shot my butler. Bastard had it coming to him. He insulted me at every turn, never cleaned any dishes, put his feet up as I hoovered the floors. He never did anything for me.
I could have just fired him - that seems like it would have been the rational thing to do. But then he had the guts to insult my mother in front of me.
Nobody insults my mother.
It was a nice sunny day. I was having a picnic with my lovely mistress, out in the woods. We found a nice little clearing where we could...
We stood on the sidewalk, our sodas sweating onto our hands. My fingers were so slick I thought any second now the plastic cup would slip through them and smash into the floor. I adjusted my grip, and you smiled slyly.
"Do you want to come in?" You asked, gesturing at your house, behind us. One lone light lit the front yard. I looked at it for a second, judging whether it would be a stupid idea. Results: Extremely stupid.
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Everyone knows the best adventure stories begin with "Why not?" and the worst romances start with...
"Goodnight, don't let the bedbugs bite," her mother said, tucking her in tightly.
"Bedbugs?," Julia asked, her voice trembling.
Her mother said not to worry, it was just an expression.
"Besides," her mother continued, "our house is much too clean to have bedbugs. So no need to worry about them."
"Shouldn't we maybe vaccuum the mattress first, just to be sure, Julia said, kicking at the heavy down comforter.
Her mother lay a hand against her forehead and brushed the hair back from Julia's eyes. She sat down on the bed.
"You just want to stay up and watch television,"...
Good night…
Good morning…
Good afternoon…
Chet had to find his own fun while working as a department-store greeter. Sometimes he said “Good evening” instead of “Good night” to the fancier-looking customers. Sometimes he said it to the disreputable customers, too, but a bit sarcastically, to see if they’d pick it up on it. They usually didn’t.
Every now and then Chet would greet someone with the wrong time of day. “Good afternoon, sir,” he’d say, as the sun was peeking over the mountains. “Good night, ma’am,” while the sun was burning hot overhead. And usually people just continued on...
"Goodnight." He bid her as they paused at her gate.
He was not like the other guys she had led down this path. She hadn't walked too close, occasionally letting their arms brush. She hadn't turned suddenly, stepping closer to him. She hadn't looked up at him out of the corner of her eye and silently willed him to kiss her.
He was not like the other guys because she was not going to stretch her hand out as she lifted the latch on the gate. She was not going to pull him up the path as she turned the...
Goodnight... I didn't think I would wake up. Well, maybe I did. Seventeen pills ought to have done it. It didn't. I guess I had known that. My sophomore-year project on suicide told me that. That seventeen wasn't enough. And I shouldn't have told anyone either. I got dragged to a counselor in front of my crying father (who never cries). I got dragged to a therapist, whom, thank God, realized the insanity of my life, and my mother (who refused to talk about her issues). Maybe I would have gone a different route, used talking, anything else, other than...
"Wait, let me send a pic...." Darren closed one eye as he aimed his phone and snapped a picture, capturing the female figure in three quarter view, just before the turning stage she stood on spun her slowly away.
He gazed at the picture, ran his thumb over the screen, before attaching it to the a text and sending it. The female figure had turned back around and he gnawed on his lips as he briefly met eyes with her. They were glossier than one would be used to, the whites would glitter, something in the plastic, or enamel or...
It never speaks,
it barely breathes,
it never fades away,
It sucks you up, then spits you out,
leaving you behind.
It tugs at your heart,
then casts it out like trash.
it walks and talks with others,
but ignores you completely.
It cast it's line,
and pulled you in,
then threw you to the sharks,
you spun in it's orbit,
only to fly out and land on your face.
it left you for things,
pieces of paper and plastic.
it orbited your world once,
the left to spin through another.
that is the behavior of the void.
drifting from the sky,
beams of light interrupted by their silent descent,
the tree sways,
growing slightly lighter as it's precious blossoms drift to the ground,
fragments of the past,
drifting silently,
making way for the future.