kmgreen5

Beep, the microwave sings An electronic message scrolls by, YOUR FOOD IS DONE But he can't retrieve it. He is powerless to stop the insistent chime. YOUR FOOD IS DONE His meal goes cold and slowly bad, his finished food rotting just like his body. Blind to the blaring television, deaf to the droning flies, he is sealed in his vault while the sun sets and rises on this gruesome tableau of a domestic ideal gone sour. Through the hours, days, this hideous simplicity of a one-man show is haunted every minute by the reminder of what was once awaited. Beep. Beep. Beep.

From the first time I saw you I was under arrest Your eyes are indescribable, you know First dates, first kisses are supposed to be a little awkward But it never was with you Our conversation as acquaintances included mix tapes and masturbation Hardly a usual experience But we are, you remind me, special, amazing, peculiar We are the exception to every rule I've ever had

At first you and I were like a pair of wild animals warily watching one another and slowly just as surely as the tide comes in we grew to like each other Someone I knew became someone I enjoyed And even more carefully I learned to trust my secrets with you I remember the night I admitted my pill addiction Not my favorite memory but you handled the breakdown well You always handled them well It was your own emotions you had trouble with You could aim your anger your disappointment at me like a well-trained beacon of malice I told you, I've never seen anything like it I was the ice to your flame the indifference to you

All my best intentions mean nothing in the long run they're short sprinters, they can't take the marathon and always, they die out, gasping At some point I thought I could tell the darkness goodbye, that I'd leave it behind and it would stay there, something to refer to in days of sunshine and rainbows as a foil to the better days I'd inhabit in the future but now I'm learning with sickening certainty that the darkness has tattooed itself to my soul, and it can't be scrubbed off or cut out or lasered clean it clings like a foul odor or a toddler with abandonment issues I'm not a nice person, I know I'm cruel on purpose and so

Now everyone is dead and scattered on the ground. They've turned to brown from red; they're littered all around. They've left their lofty seats to join the growing piles of husks that could not cheat their fate, however vile. It happens every year, these disregarded deaths. But I still shed a tear, and hoping, hold my breath.

The oak leaves are becoming gold, and only a willful few are holding on to their original emerald hue. Fall has now made brisk the air to accompany the view. It's autumn's move—so very bold.

She doesn't like being touched except on her own terms, claims it makes her feel trapped and sick. So I typically don't touch her unless she initiates it, or I make it light and casual, so she can feel like she has an escape. She's the most stubborn person I've ever met. She tells me I'm illogical, but when logic is against her she swears and says it doesn't matter, because she is right and sense is not. Tears from anyone she scorns and hates. If I were to cry she'd think me less of a man; when she does it she runs away and hides until her eyes are clear and her face composed. I've told her that I don't care if she cries, but she only frown

The lens has changed and now I see everything in a new distortion. I am tied to a table, pumping a bag-valve and helping the countless cadavers breathe. There's a room in my pocket, with men and women walking on hardwood, voices echoing Panther-black sinuous animal shapes sliding at the edges of my vision The cat becomes a fiendish lynx, waiting for me to turn my back And this morning when I woke up there were ants in my skin. It occurs to me to wonder what would happen if I folded in half in order to save space and increase efficiency. I want to carve angles where there are curves, make marble where now is plush, and renovate my

Dressed in baggy clothes and boots that are too big, she dances with unpredictable grace in a dirty parking lot near her car. The streetlight flickers, part of a cycle of slow dimming and unexpected spotlight as she moves in and out of darkness. Oblivion has taken over; she does not know and would not care if anyone is watching. It isn't about that. Pride is not an issue and the arrangement is for her, a reminder that she has to find her own transcendence rather than wait in vain for someone to present it as a gift.

I've put it off all day—but I can't wait any longer. A little voice has been whispering in my head, and now it's time to be happy again. I need another fix, but it's okay because I'm getting better, I really am. I promise I'll be good. I'll make you feel nice, please, just gimme what I need, please. I could quit anytime I want, but this works better for both of us. Come on, please? And now that I'm getting what I want, it's a flood of relief and indulgent pleasure. God, it feels so incredible. I can't even remember the desperation that controlled me only minutes ago; it's a distant memory. Don't stop, keep going, oh God. You make me f