"A holstered product secretly hunts after its own end product-"

                    "-not metal targets nor flying geese, but mortality."

A man, with graying hair and pursed lips, told me this. A well-trained and prayered piety had crept along, pounced, and overcome him. Like Edison, a creative obsession gripped his spine and puppeteered the entire body. It was a plague, he called it, or something like that. Even at a young age, gaurdian 1 & 2 lulled him to the steeple's hiding. He noted how the steeple was always at mast. His children would observe the same detail, live the same routine. I studied the curious character for weeks. A facsimile of the Word seemed permanently pressed on his brain, trapped behind devout eyes- For weeks I studied him, give me more time! Each biblical page was scribbled and creased, share and reused. -no longer. "My holster found its mortal tonight, friend. I'll raise the barrel and create a grand scene."

Slight pause, heavy breathe, slow speak. "Colossal at best."

by Kendra Cook

When I was younger
I prayed to be
A forensic pathologist

When I was a teenager
I prayered that
The racism and bullying
would stop

Present day
My prayers
Are dedicated to love
Of another.

All the he's are gone.
And I am left with
Me. Mum and dad.

I'm about to run away again.

Just me and an expired car

It's been a hard year..
I have had the best *** of my life
But found no love
Never allowed to lie in the arms of the strangers who use me.

The one I long for
The one I cry for
And the one I pray for

Has blocked me everywhere. .

Now I am alone.

I feel like a cheap ****.
I never cheated but I tried to replace him to soon

I should have just waited prayered harder that he would change his mind

I hope his new lover is kind and smart and beautiful.

I feel like trash
Surly it gets better than this.
Or was that my day in the sun