Certainly,
I would decline.

He swears he loves me. I have an easy time believing him, because he keeps repeating it.

I, too, have known the metallic clang of silver soup spoon on steel-wrapped bars.

We are equally wrecked, and I do not need a drop of drink to loosen my tongue and un-prise my grasp and concede my bestial organ to your demand.

What might I tell the girl complicit in her own suffering?

Identity thief
Your lies don’t belong to him
Brown-eyed girl, his love

Stay distant,
Denizens of Mars;
Men of the cloth
Might cache the scars.

Komorebi peeks through the eaves of yesterday’s borrowed ease when the flibbertigibbets flippered in on frisky fins and no one remembered my name from his.

Originally posted on hijacked amygdala:
Read: The Chronicles Read: More Chronicles SEVEN. You carelessly devoured me with no regard for consequence. Now I am the fishbone stuck in your throat. A niggling irritation, an itch you cannot scratch. I’ll stay there, stubborn, a daily annoyance, but one that you become used to over time. “It’ll…

I used to travel her route on afterschool afternoons. They have since incorporated Helena’s Way into a construction site. Intentional or otherwise, now I scan the sidewalks from the car window, eager for a glimpse of her. There she goes, I would say. The one who won’t let me go. I have forgiven you thousand-crane […]

Skating off windowpaned ice rinks and compact mirrors of triple axel camera stunts, he ached for discovery through subversive social media, and sucked the cordless hairs that tied his tongue to the roof of his mouth, stuffed with her name soaked through cotton pads.

Water: a dipperful to soothe lips aching from absent kiss-prints, arms in need of a mirror to break without shattering, the slight frisson of skin-slip in place of pestilent longing.

They don’t take laughter like they take shots of Stoli on a humid Saturday night in the middle of a martini bar that charges ten times the cost of manufacturing. Garments too loose (or just tight enough) stick to their ribs like Dum-Dum wrappers to melted lollipops in cherry, root beer, or mystery flavors. Their […]

It wasn’t my middle name that hushed his heaving grief — it was your piece of store-bought cake, topped with sprinkled pansies trapped within pewter pebbles bearing a strong resemblance to sculpted bubbles. The Indian-style headdress accessorizing your hand-beaded gown accented your hazel eyes, golden in the campfire. Levitating lanterns lit his way inside their […]

She looks just like you.

You can’t question the loamy articulations that barely qualify as speech collecting at the bottom of his rocks glass like too many take-homes from The Himalayas. You can’t ask them what’s wrong with preferring the color they ignore — “that’s for underlings” — it’s not acceptable to perforate the illusion. You can’t tell them you’ve […]

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I upchuck overwrought adjectives from the steaming stomach of my vocabulary and glare at the undigested mass of regurgitated indignities. Could verbal vomit neutralize a less loathsome stench? Would unprocessed, preservative-free lingo, as yet unsullied by hefty quantities of bitter bile, emulate the floral quality of five dozen roses?

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