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The last day began like any other,
'X's' ticked off the calendar
As I trailed my fingers through the dates.

The last day began like the first,
Fresh daisies of colour bloomed as my eyes searched
For something I had never seen before.

The last day began with peace,
A fresh breath with each
Thump of the chest
My eyes rest, as I found the culprit.

The last day began with a rock in the womb
Blood, fleshed, red, a living tomb
You opened up, and out,
Your wilted flower bloomed.
The day’s hours were worn down and a sudden sunset, that resembled a master’s painted glimpse of Valhalla was upon us, its majesty of deepest blue, blood red and black.

From our tenth-floor skew, the river looked, for all, like a wrinkled sea expecting a storm. Boats moved to tie up before the dark body of windswept clouds arrived trailing a wall of downpour and flickering, electric thunder.

Our study group had run over, as they tend to do. Most of the members urgently moved to pack up (they’d be campus bound). An unpropitious rumble and fierce flare of light revealed that mild twilight had swiftly faded to a darkest stormy night.

My pinched-pleated curtains thrashed before this tempest for the almanacs, feigning a life they do not possess, like twin ghosts stirred to wrath.

“We can order in,” I offered, waving a menu from the downstairs bistro, as I closed my French, glass doors. “Why not eat here and wait it out?” I shrugged, “My treat,” I offered, “and I have wine.”

A pleasant embracement of relief and consent followed. What held more power, I wondered, the society, natures coerce or the gratis fare?

Later. as we parted, a young man paltered, repaying me with a quick hug and cheeky kiss. The valueless touch, was itself rewarded with a small grimace of a smile, but the sin did not overset the mood.
.
.
Songs for this:
Riders on the storm by the doors
Stormy by Classics IV
You hurt.
You will always do.
My favourite wound.

Every now and then,
I sprinkle salt on it—

And if It’s healing,
With bare hands
I rip it open
in my heart.

Keeping your memory alive
through this pain,
tearing me apart
I’d love a cheat day
In my calendar—
Let my years-patched dignity,
For a single day,
be torn again.

I wish I could tell you
I wrote a poem for you—
A cheesy gift
for your thirtieth—
I know.

You are still breathing.
Yet I pin to my chest
A neat, felt
black ribbon—
To commemorate
The aching
 Jun 15 Thomas W Case
nivek
dehumanize
-making killing
easier.
I can be obsessive. For instance, last night I needed a command hook.
My mind couldn’t focus on “Principles of Biostatistics,” as fascinating as that book is, because I needed this $3 command hook to hang my keys by the door.

There’s a table by the door, I could easily put my keys there, but no. That’s where books go (am I too picky?). What’s funny is, I’d just been reading about ‘bias mitigation,' ya know, science is everywhere.

Still, I searched the boxes that I hadn’t unpacked
I looked around them too, did one fall in a crack?
Did I have one to begin with? I couldn’t keep track.

I texted Charles (across the hall), “do you have a command hook?”
“A what?” he replied. So I texted his wife, who went to look.
When she didn’t have one, I went back to my book.

The chapter was about ‘probability distributions as tools for managing uncertainty.’ How topical, here I was, uncertain about when I’d get that command hook. Never mind an indifferent God, science is obviously listening.

It was nearly midnight. I wondered, how late Door-Dash delivered?
Would they bring my hook or were there other services I should consider?
What about Amazon, Target or WalMart—could one of those be a winner?

In the end I had to do without—I gave up at 1am.
The miracle of capitalism had failed me—****.

I could study with the hook off my mind. So, I set an Alexa reminder,
an alarm on my watch and alerts on my iPhone and MacBook finder,
then I wrote a pink post-it note, and put that on my epidemiology binder.

I have a standing, pre-dawn jog with Charles, and an idea forming.
If we passed an open convenience store, I could buy one in the morning!
.
.
Songs for this:
I Want You by Bob Dylan
I need you by Jon Batiste
“I was waiting for you birthday”,
He took off his ring…and walked away,
Well,
Dramatic!
Well planned,
Touche!
I wouldn’t invite you anyway!
It’s all about you,
What you want,
What you own,
I guess I’ve always been alone.
BLCostello©2025
I took my first wrong turn
when I took you so for granted,
I was so relieved to wake up next to you.
I’m so used to making my world burn,
or making sure that it stays slanted,
perhaps I should stop writing in red and start with blue.

You want to know what was my worst mistake,
it was watching your heart break
to prevent a fracture of my own.
I need to stop doing things only for my sake;
can’t eat and have my own cake,
each day is just a loan.

I see colours from and around you
but I always paint shades of grey,
we can argue that the pictures beautiful all the same.
Analyze shadows, shades and each hue,
we can always find a sun ray;
we’ve perfected it into our own type of game.

You want to know what was my worst regret,
was making your eyes turn wet
to keep my own dry.
I’d place all I own left on a bet
that it’s something we both won’t forget,
I wish that was a lie.

I committed my worst crime
based upon my biggest sin,
you’re so faithful; truth is I don’t deserve you.
“This won’t happen a second time,
I’d rather trade off my soul and my skin
spend the rest of my life held together with tape and glue.”

You want to know what was my worst mistake,
it was watching your heart break
to prevent a fracture of my own.
Share consequences from the choices I make,
it causes me to burn and ache
right down to the bone.
Apologetic lvl 80
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