for a long while, i thought the prince edward viaduct had streams of water pouring out of the top and through the bottom on the north and south sidewalks. i tried to tell you about the streams but you were smoking out the window and spitting out the window(more) and yelling out the window.
"have you ever seen the waterfalls on the viaduct?"
"have you ever walked across the viaduct?"
i drove across it in traffic this week and came to a full stop. the streams froze into metal rods to encage. (less)
It's about time to drive yourself crazy. Book a flight to Spain to have human trafficking haunt you. Take a job at a bookstore to put more knots in your back. Pick up English courses to put more notches in your(more) bank account and knowledge on a dusty shelf. A better credit score, at least. But still, hiding from your insides, piling on new titles and identities until the old is lost. And always wondering who you are now and who you were then. (less)
"How innocent do I look?" I reach over the counter and grab a shooter glass. I fill it 'ith pilsner and toss it at my face. One chug.
(more) "...t'ought so," he mumbles, neck bent over the bar.
"What d'ya mean?" I drum my fingertips on the cracked wood top.
He turns opposite me and grabs 'is deep tea cup of rum 'ith pink flowers painted on. He heaves himself off the rickety bar stool and ducks down int'a tattered leather booth.
Some night. Barmin Jim is out rushin' the under-agers around, telling 'em t' get the hell out of 'is bar again. They only got so many costumes. How don't he notice?
Jim lets m'in every night. He don't care t' notice that I'm a tad young t' be kickin' round this here bar. Old fuck doesn't know what's good for 'im. I usually bring in some more drinkers 'nd he likes that. (less)
Tell me, are you the only one here? I follow you around with my pearly white eyes and they shine at you and you know. You know everything in the room. Eyes in your hands and on your head and in your ass, watching it all.
(more) I can't watch you. You titter, tatter around and crawl all over everything with crumbs spilling out your mouth.
I tilt my head one way, scrunch up my plain face, look back and you're gone.
But you still see me.
I lift my legs 'nd hug them to my knees. I grab at some tissue paper boxed up on the left of my desk, flecks of dust flying through the air.
"Hello!" I say aloud, to no one at all.
Tell me, are you the only one here aside from me? (less)
The loyal woman will not let you walk on her floor mats, scraping the dignity off your boots. The disloyal woman is hiding behind charity and pattern. Yet, she is unaware of her disloyalty. The intentions are sewn into cotton ball clouds, waiting for the flood.
There is a point when a candle’s wick will continue to burn, even when the flame is long gone. Gray smoke rises and chars the top ridge of the candle holder and pierces my nostrils. I always consider different ways to kill the flame. I could flick it with(more) a used match stick or blow on it. But, no matter how many times this happens to me, the thought of suffocating it always comes to me last. I rest a porcelain plate over it and watch as the flame is smoked out, losing oxygen. Is the wick substantial or should I continue to kill its ambitions? (less)
when the pattern is ingrained, i'll misplace it amidst the day-to-day. there is an unconscious anxiety of waiting on words from those unspoken, foregone romances that i'd once strewn across my bedroom floorboards and all over my plain. but when the words come, i lay down my hard coverings(more) and toss my versed monologues aside and become susceptible to what i'd assured myself i'd never let past me.
i revisit old memories from just two years ago and, startling, i've changed. my smile is buried now and my under-eyes are lined with the purple colour of bruises. no matter how much sleep i allow myself or how much health i give to myself, these dark circles are cyclical. is this growing up or growing into my grave?
those who have recently attempted to carve me out of my layers assume i lack vulnerability. what they - and, well, i, did not know is that my heart beat differently once. a familiar invitation allows it to settle into that old beat, if only for a time, and i can pass my shield off to someone else who needs it more than i.
it would be wise to forge a new shield as my heart is nowhere near my sleeve. but instead, i wonder, if vulnerability is what is missing from most people. or maybe i only let my guard down when my heart and brain align and decide it is the right time.
for now, i can move along with my realized pattern as i thaw out my numbed heart. (less)
I'm without a hair-tie to tie it all back and up and out of the way. I brush at it and my ring gets caught and rips thin, dirty blonde pieces from my head. They will fall out if I rip or if I do not. I can choose(more) not to notice if I let myself choose.
if you choose the right instance, you can listen to the lake melt. its soft sonance drips like a stream. soft, crisp ripples dribble in meager pools of frigid ice water thawed atop the solid slat of lake-sized ice sheet.
(more) coats hung in the corner, they grabbed at the sun, begging it to make its home within their cells for just a morsel longer. (less)