When I was younger, I would wait for him
to die. I loved him - at least I wished I did.
He used to be my D.A.D., and acronym.

Remaining in the mobile home, amid
his “hidden” *** toys and unlocked arsenal-
when he would return, my brother and I hid.

His I.Q.? Soaring, but he lacked a soul,
he killed kittens for fun and never got caught.
Covert sociopath; maintaining control.

Court ordered visits left my mother distraught,
she wrestled the system over us for years,
our knight in shining armor that always fought.

The battle was won after many shed tears -
to a ****** life we forged, pioneers.

When we live together, all will be swell,
but we don’t have much time ‘til you want kids so
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.

You’ll do the dishes ‘cause I hate the smell,
I’ll do the bills ‘cause you hate math so
when we live together, all will be swell.

You’ll come with me for that ultrasound gel
But I’d want to abort this alien so
We’ll live together, at least ‘till farewell.

Donate to Goodwill so we needn’t resell,
We both love creatures - we’ll donate to them so
When we live together, all will be swell.

I’ll **** that child before it can excel
but it’s been your dream to have children so
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.

We’ll end up a story for me to retell
“Once, I was in love but it didn’t work” so
When we live together, all will be swell.
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.

December
The month of
nameless living.
Darkness so thick
it blinds your eyes
and fills your mouth
like a pillow smothering
your face;
like a swollen tongue
so large,
you can no longer breathe.

The month of
Pain so deep
it became it’s own
brand,
seared deep into
faded, grey flesh.

Gnarled, thin fingers claw at the sky;
Sun rays hide shyly behind thick clouds,
peeking at their leafy admirers.
Perpetually rooted to the ground,
the light taunts them;
giving life,
but damning them to immobility.
There will be no air dancing for them.
The only cloud they’ll taste
is that which lies low,
a fog miserable as a sponge.
Earth’s star fades in the distance,
mimicking their tragic dreams.

Rifle through the closet,
find the bag of bags
you’ve collected for years.
The Journey’s bag,
that purple bag with the cinch-
it once held the shoes you wore
during your first kiss.

Go through the bathroom,
search the cabinet for
the hairspray
in the black can.
“Extra Firm Control”,
your mom’s favorite kind.

Locate that brown
woven belt that you
once took off
to lose your virginity,
curled like a snake
in the bottom drawer.

Put your head in the
purple bag like you would
*** a mourning flower.
Empty the black
spray can into the bag
that cradles your head
like your mother will.

Pull the bag string
so tight it burns your skin,
your own special
hang man’s noose.

Braid the brown woven snake
around your wrists and behind
your back -
tug so hard it almost breaks before
making the handcuffs whole.

Sing while you do this,
let the last thing you say
be a song.

Abandon your thoughts to keep your mind blank;
bare like the walls of a dental office;
clear like a polished mirror.
Don’t let anything back in,
even the thought of your aging mom -
forget her impending mortality.
Grasp you love for him because
Hurt can come from even the lightest places.
Ignore the world’s problems,
just focus on “empty”.
Keep your mind like space,
let there be nothing, not even air.
Make your plan now,
neglect anything other than this plan.
Oblivion will welcome you now,
Pure Spirit. Put this plan into action
quickly, before the feelings
return to ******* over.
Spotless.
Trigger step one and fill your pistol:
unload it into your brain.
****** mind now dead,
white unconsciousness harbors.
Xylographed onto the coffin:
“Young but no longer sad”.
Zen at long last.

I scream “****” like a blossom being picked,
ripped from the soil, roots left behind.
My family waves goodbye, weeping crimson petals
and wilting their heads, ashamed of my shame.
They turn their stems to me, humiliated by my deflowering.

Can you smell my terror? Can you ******* anguish?
As I lie here ruined, face down in the dirt,
plucked then tossed near the rest of his bouquet.
She loves me, she loves me not? No.

I am still there, I am always there.
Rocks bury themselves into my eyes,
each ****** blinding me but I can still see him.
I hear him moan my name as if he knows me,
“Narcissus, Narcissus, you’re mine.”
He lets go, flooding me with his backwards milk.

We lie here. his bouquet, in Cemetery X on grave Y
marked “Hope”, but there never really was hope, was there?

His name was Amor.