They yell.

One father figure
far from
being young,
is a tired
diabetic,
with poor circulation,
thinning hair,
with missing
and rotting teeth,
he is a constantly
frustrated human being.

His roommate,
the other
middle aged
just turned
thirty-eight
who works
almost every day,
hair starting
to gray
just a little
teeth following
his father’s lead,
is also tired
and frustrated.

The old man is lonely
not only because
many friends
have passed
but because
his son
has to drive
fifty miles
each way
almost everyday
to work.
So, they only speak
in small spurts.

The middle-aged son
is tired because
his father always wants
to chat at the early a.m.
when he is still sleeping,
and barely even
able to open his eyes.

There are always
other little issues
like ***** dishes,
or some minor
cleaning concern.

But the son is always on the run
and the old man is always snapping
so, there is friction,

and a slight fear
that one day
when he is not here
the old man
with his health problems
will finally succumb to them,
and the son
will come
home to find
his father dead
or dying.

So, even after arguing
the middle aged-man
manages to remind his dad,
that he loves him,
even when
he is seriously considering
strangling him.

I am terrified
that one day
my identity
will wither,

afraid
my memory
will fog up,
only flowing
in and out
like late in life
late night tides,

that familiar faces
who have managed
to stay alive
will sit by my side
without a spark of
recognition from
this human husk
they love.

I am scared
that my mind
will shed
neural pathways
like a dog
sheds fur
on a sweltering
summer day,

that my brain
will shrivel
as it dehydrates
shrinking in a physical
and mental
fashion
as the demon
of dementia
possesses
and diminishes
me.

The butcher’s bane,
the ****** mess
I came to see,
a cracked carcass
laying displayed,
fetid, and crumbling
with rot
because the butcher forgot
to take a day off.

Now,
beneath the dust
the stench of
a week’s worth
of decay
sprays
out of
the doorway,
tempting strangers
who pass that way
to wretch
violently,

while familiar faces
face regret
for not checking in
with their old friend
the butcher.

I learn the most from those who do not obscure the facts or hide themselves. Why not be free with yourself, we are all beautifully unique. How can we learn and grow if we are not open and honest with each other? People can not make fair judgment of us if we do not expose our insecurities and being insecure does not make us weak, it makes us human.

There is mercury,
a thick metal liquid,
pulsing in my veins.

My damaged atrium
pumps
poor putrification.

Each heartbeat
is acid agony
pushing silver poison
through my body.

I cannot *****
it up
or sweat it out.
So, I must die
with this
sickening
substance
in me.

There’s a crack
in the back black
parking lot.

There’s a crack in my engine
so, my car
won’t start,

and there’s a crack
in my demeanor
so, any one
can look in
and see my
bleeding heart.

She scratched
the brass latch.
So, I can’t open it
and get back
to my past
without a
a tnt memory
blast.