the mouth is oiled
the tongue is cocked
the words are bullets
we aim for the back
and shoot

"There he is again," the old man thinks. Sitting on a porch swing, he watches the boy walk past his house, as he does each morning. He thinks of him as "the boy" but he must be in is early 30's. The boy waves each time he crosses the street, walking towards the sidewalk that leads uphill until the boy is out sight, behind neighbor's trash cans and ( Read more... )

Depression. I can not say there is an aspect of the disease that is worse than the other. One symptom is neither trivial or gargantuan. Depression functions as a whole. Losing a button on your favorite shirt is no more devastating than losing a loved one or having your shoes come untied several times as you walk to work. They're all equal. It is ( Read more... )

I walk everyday. I walk the same route, down the street of Bardstown Rd., cutting through the parking lot of the local hardware store, past the McDonalds, and two hair salons that are typically empty except for employees stagnant in their profession until prom season, then I cross the street to the parking lot of Mid City Mall. The building houses ( Read more... )

I don't know what I'm doing, except for screaming silently, within myself. It's the safest place to scream; silently, in your own mind. I sit on the steps of the back porch and look at my surroundings. Buildings, street lights, alley ways. I listen to passing cars. I listen to the drunken laughter of people stumbling to their cars, or to their ( Read more... )

I slipped several times on my walk to work today. Passing cars saw, and I pretended they were witnessing a free-lance street dancer. My arms would come up, as my feet slid on the frozen snow, my hips would turn right then left in an effort to balance. I was just doing the hula you guys, several times over. Pshaw. Of course I was. Had I fallen, it ( Read more... )

I am disintegrating. I can feel it. I'm becoming less. I'm becoming lighter ( Read more... )

Drunk, he grabs my hand and pulls me to the dance floor. "For old time's sake," he says as though it had been decades since we'd been together. What does that phrase even mean? For the sake of old times, as though our lives depended on remembering for a moment what it felt like to be an "us". I remember well. They are not yet old times ( Read more... )

On my 30 minute walk to work I've seen:

a fire hydrant unscrewed and flowing water down the street

an igloo

a five dollar bill

a man asking directions to the pet grooming store

a box of condoms, unopened (pity)

several dogs/puppies/a kid on a collar

and a gentleman that walks his poodle daily,

I don't mind walking to work.

I'm afraid he'll notice my freckles when he meets me. I'm sitting at a tablet in a coffee shop, locally owned of course. The place is full of pictures painted by local artists, and they amount to splatters of paint on canvas. There's a stack of games on a shelf next to my table and I'm tempted to grab Trivial Pursuit from the shelf and start ( Read more... )