Pop

I can see him out my window. Not with my eyes. But he’s there. He makes the air taste sticky like Tootsie Roll Pops. I lick my lips and I feel him on my shoulder. I close my eyes. My hand slowly sliding under my skirt. Then I feel the bite.

It’s the last thing I feel.

No Shame

I guess it won’t be easy letting you go. I say to no one in particular as I point at a dust bunny that is playfully licking itself. 

So don’t. He says, hugging me tightly.

I fall into his adverbs, because they’re easy.

Lovingly. Longingly. Beautifully.

He plays guitar and my favorite part isn’t the music. It’s his expression when he gets it. When he figures it out. When he puts the guitar pick in his mouth and holds it there. His lips. I can’t stop thinking about his lips. The way he holds my bottom lip between his teeth. Nearly pain. Mostly pleasure.

The way he asks. No, the way he coyly demands me to remove my clothes for him.

What if I don’t?

I’ll punish you, he says, smiling.

Grinning, I do what he commands. I’m his. I don’t want to fight it.

His lips on my mouth. His hands on my hips. Grasping tightly. Again and again and again.

I fall into his trap. His eyes are pools. I sink. It’s hopeless. I’m trapped under this thing called love.

There is nothing to do but accept it and move on, hand in hand.

Boy

Before you
there was him & him & him

all boring names
with boring jobs
and chapped lips

but we kissed and fucked
like it was no big deal
and it wasn’t

so we moved on

then I found you
and we kissed
and held hands
and I thought twice before giving in
but I did anyways
because I’m that kind of girl

But you stayed
and I stayed
and I hope you never leave
because you’re that kind of boy
and I want to be that kind of girl

Ash

Beth could barely breathe. Her ghosts filled her lungs and she coughed ash. Her ears whispered the sounds of waves. Her feet felt cold and her toes turned black. Her fingers were gnarled and she knew it was time to let go. 

"I’ll be there soon, Henry. I’ll be there soon."

She died with her eyes open.

Danny

Danny’s eyes were blank. He stared at something on the wall, but nothing was there but peeling paint. He had been sitting in that same chair doing nothing for three days.

His mother shoveled baby food into his mouth, but most of it ended up on his shirt.

It was embarrassing. He was 27 and Danny had gone completely mental.

It was time to call the authorities.

"Danny, dear…what’s wrong? Tell your Mum, please." She shook him till his head went floppy, but as soon as she stopped, he looked on.

Frustrated, she threw the spoon and glass jar at the ground.

"Now look at what you made me do!"

But instead of kneeling on the ground to clean it up, she walked away sobbing.

A tear rolled down Danny’s cheek, waking him from his stupor, but his mouth dribbled incoherent words. So he kept quiet as he picked the glass from the ground. He had an urge to lick the floor clean, but instead removed his shirt and mopped up his mess.

Shirtless, he stepped out of the door, running barefoot through the front yard. The blades of grass tickled his toes, but he didn’t stop to enjoy it. An ambulance was coming and he lunged for the speeding vehicle like it would save him.

It did.

Pie

She dipped her finger into the pie filling and asked, “Would you like a taste?”

Windy

When I fall, I don’t look back. I lay in the dust under your bed and listen to your secrets. When I move, I trip you up in front of your crush.

You’ll never catch me, because I’m just a puff of air.

I’m your worst self. The black abyss of your imagination. Stop feeding me and I’ll stop growing.

Boo

She was standing in the hall, dressed in white, trying her hardest not to say, “Boo.” 

It was too generic. Too sacred. Too scary.

Instead she wailed and chased him till his heart stopped.

Together forever.

Remembering

Something always seemed to be floating in the back of Amelia’s mind totally out of reach. She couldn’t remember if it was good, bad or even important. It was there just out of reach. She would scratch the inside of her mouth with her tongue trying hard to regain the thought.

Her lips chapped, so deep in thought, she’d go entire days without eating. Her mind totally consumed by this constant nagging of the thing forgotten.

She would wake up, covered in sweat, but just as soon as she had calmed down from the nightmare, she’d fall back asleep doomed to forget it.

What was it?

She scribbled on notebooks, napkins and the backs of receipts searching for the lost thought.

Months went by, she went through her days in a haze, searching. Fired from her job, she’d spend most days in the library flipping through magazines and reading books she couldn’t remember for the 5th or 6th time.

She wrote down everything before it would disappear.

But nothing jogged the memory loose from her sleep-deprived brain.

She died, malnourished, in her bed. Nearly forgotten just like the thought itself.

Under her mattress they found a letter:

-Milk

-Bread

-Eggs

-Stewart

Her refrigerator was empty and Stewart had died 9 months ago. Her firstborn, lost, forever in a car accident that had been shaken from her memory along with her husband, Rodney.

Her ghost, barely there, haunted the halls calling out for a name that you couldn’t really hear.

The Empty Room

"I like lying naked in stranger’s beds," she said with a long sigh. She felt drowsy and still aroused, but he was already getting dressed.

He stared at her, sipping her with his eyes.

"Do you do that a lot?" He said pulling his socks on.

"Not as much as I’d like," she said with a wink. It was no use, he had already moved on to his next thought, errand and was in another world. She would not be coaxing him back into bed with her.

She rolled across the bed wishing she was in a field of flowers. She skimmed the bed for her clothes, but instead, covered herself with his sheets.

"Can I just stay here all day?"

But he was already gone.