Then rip it the rest of the way. Cause **** that paper.

There's an ambient sound in the light of this sill, this wooden panel of glass and appreciation of architecture and planning and the lack thereof. There's a scent to the air which is like somebody wants to care, but just doesn't. A crow sits.

There are rusty tools in the shed and rotting wood on every building. Dead leaves on all grounds. Silent fires. Silent animals and corpses.
Silent golden jewelry sitting in a drawer, waiting for it's half life.

The man with blonde hair is new. So is his blood and sweat. Things are changing.
He's running for his life.

You said I was the best.
You said I was perfect.

If I had jello in my veins,
I'd cut my wrists and drink
Scrumptious sugar sweet,
Rainbow colors within me.

I could love you if we tried,
I really think I could,
But I think right now,
I don't really think we should.

I'm trying not to,
I'm trying to ignore the urge to say I love you,

Less and less of it every day,
But those memories won't go away.

I thank god that you showed up,
I'm glad I found you with my luck,
And I'm glad we loved each other for a week,
But I'd really rather just remember that ****,

That night, those days,
My heartbeat and yours
No regret.
None.
And society will call me a *****
And I will laugh and say
"I loved her."
"I really did."
And it will not be a fib.

A uniformity in expectance,
A subconscious wait.
My mind knows it's coming
Like some kind of date.

Her words,
Be they good or bad,
Are expected,
If only a tad.

2 AM,
My body wakes
It's so ******* late
Will it come?

I wait.

Richard was in his lab.
White coat and plastic bag.
Carrying lenses for the telescope.
To view planets.
And other space rocks.

Gemini 4551.
An asteroid.
Projected for Earth collision.
Two years exactly.
Richard kept a calendar.
Only he knew.

Richard and his lenses.

-

Richard told the president.
And his advisors.
They asked for proof.
But. He said.
I can’t see it today.
I don’t know where it went.
Let me clean the lenses.

Richard cleaned the lenses.
Still nothing.
The officials left.
Lunatic wannabe hero.

-

Many things were wrong.
Richard hated life.
His wife left.
His dog died.
No family.
No friends.
Richard hung himself on a Sunday.
Maybe God would care.

-

The asteroid came.
Uncaring.

He walks with no extraordinary gait,
No abnormal actions,
No external signs.

His steps sound human.
They are.

His voice sounds human.
It is.

So why does he hate himself.
Why do the charred hands within his chest scratch at the clay doll he calls a heart.
Why does he pick away at the chipping layer of lies and truths and in-betweens which coat his insides with a yellow paint.
Why does he pressure the unpressurable.
Why does he push every boundary but one.
Why is he the bad guy.

Why is his hero absent.
Where is he.

I get to use my Z key.
Quite a rare site to see.
A tap and a tick in the bottom left hand corner of my keyboard.
I like it.
This tapping and ticking.

To hate what I've become is a habit,
I have it, this hatred.
Taking whats sacred from me and giving,
Donating
A living, breathing thing, still shaking.

A gift
Few take a chance to lift,
A kiss.
My Miss.