Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
1.
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

2.
Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

3.
While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

4.
Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

5.
Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

6.
Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

7.
Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

8.
Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

9.
and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
  10.
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
11.
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
12.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
13.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
14.
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
15.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
16.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
17.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
18.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
19.
Zion,
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
20.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

21.
In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.

were neck deep in cigarettes
coughing up
pennies to feed each other's piggy banks
just to get by
kissing left and right
in the hallways
that are tucked away from the prying eyes
but still just as ****** as the last
i want to be more then a pass me by- hello-how-you-doin'-grin
i want to be the alcohol that hangs on your breath
from last night
that
warmth
hanging near that soft spot on your lower lip
that
i want to take shelter on.

Drink me away
Drink me away
Drink me near

Where's you fridge
I need a beer
To help forget
And to add more calories
I didn't eat today
I hope my momma's proud of me

Give me love
Give me life
Give me *** for memory

***** and redbull
Is my frenemy

Bring me to waters,
Early in the morn.
Bring me to waters,
Two doors from the dorm.

Ringing ears
Drop dead silence
Revealing fears
Under the influence

Tired flesh
Mind awakened
Spirit shakened
Day is night
Night is day

Monologue conversations
In an overflowing mind
Personal revelations  
Are harder to find

Verbal diarrhoea
Fitting nothing in criteria
Spreading like bacteria
Repressing hysteria

He smells like redbull and cigarettes.
He’s a quaint New England cottage
On a Paris street corner -
Crude smoke licking at the window panes
And cheap nylons stretched
Across bright stucco.  

He’s the reason for a nice pair of underwear.

Sing oh muse!
Of the heavy-hearted
And her quest for elbow patches
And tortoise shell glasses.

A cloud of confusion from a whiff of cologne -
These are the moments when the crossroads
Is as plain as freckles
Or lipstick on a wine glass.
Propelled forward on roller skates
Called desire.
And white teeth gnawing on broken lips,
And we let desire swell and rattle around inside -
Until we will never be rid of the bruises.
Brick and clouds and red lace and muddy laces
And bruises.

it's 2.32am and i'm sitting alone in my room cramming advert notes into my brain for the exam barely 12 hours away
i can't remember anything, but it doesn't matter. i'll cram anyway, since it's the only thing i can do now
i've cracked open a fresh can of redbull for this ****, and i'll take it one step at a time
the raw panic when i thought about having to remodule was stark and completely gripping just a couple of hours ago
now, i have reached this zen-like calm and i'm not quite sure whether to be worried that i'm being distracted by the thin girls i see on tumblr

my stomach growls. i ignore it. it's far too late to eat. the can of redbull i'm having is already 159.75 calories
159.75 calories too many
i have never been good with numbers, i once scored 0/65 for a math test 2 months before my gce o levels
but for this, i will count
i will count like how ebenezer scrooge did. with great precision and scrutiny
i was never good enough for you. i never will be. but if there's something i can control in my life, i will make it this

less is more,
and i, will always be too much.

Listen! Oh, peasants! Be still and hear!
Must we live our whole lives frightened like deer?
Content to be tossed around like waves,
rolled over like dice,
wandering directionless through life's clever maze
like little white mice?

It is time to act and stand tall!
When Liberty cries for Mercy,
we must answer Her call.
They think us imbeciles,
fools one and all,
We must fight with tools,
this tyrant must fall.

It is time for revolution!
All ye students early rise,
stock up on Redbull and
take your fight to the skies.
We must strike from the top
to take Them by suprise, and
do not stop until
each one of Them dies.
We will no longer be fooled
by this government's guise.

To the skies, you mortal beings!

Here we are again.
Lying on my side,
You running your nonexistant nails
Down the curves of my bare back.
"I can't tell what you're writing."
"I'm not writing, stupid.
I'm drawing."
And I lay there
Reveling for 10 minutes,
Not at the comfort of being touched,
But because it's your fingertips
Tracing your silly doddles
Across my bare skin.
I'm not sure how we got here.
From crab rangoons and redbull,
To sushi and back scratches;
From best friends to this,
This thing so out of touch
With any sensical title.
I'm too much of a ****
To even begin to act like I notice,
To show that I'm more aware than I seem.
Time for a new distraction.
"Meet Virginia" is on, time to tease you.

i must be some sort of permanently exhausted pigeon;
claws clinging to the telephone wire
drearily blinking my way through
the morning meeting of the aerial acrobatic society.

i am a seagull swarmed
amongst the chirpy conjecture
of these early birds;
and my soul caws an honesty,
a wail, a howl, the truth.

i am a tainted swan
grittily paddling myself through the marsh
we call this world,
a lone observer of the acrobats,
the stickiness of my feet keeping me
flightless.

and you are a swallow;
redbull wings migrate you to warmer climates.
you hear the seagulls
but listen to the pigeons.
you notice the swan
but her murky shallows are too icy
for your liking.

and you are a chicken;
blind beyond your own free-range vicinity.
you catch the pigeons as jet planes,
and the seagull's whisper is alien.
you don't know miss swan.

Here is something I learnt today
Be careful on what you spend your pay
After a day of fun, I did not think
And downed a pitcher of energy drink!

Got to the pub at half past seven
Drank Monster and Redbull until eleven
Finally home and sleep I think
But sadly not, bloomin energy drink!

What is this madness, I wiggle my toes
Why can’t I sleep , my eyes are closed
I peek and see all my clothes are pink
But still no sleep, bloomin energy drink!

Some fine ideas come flooding to me
Animation too seems just too easy
I wonder if this is the missing link
Nah, it’s the bloomin energy drink!

So check the web, will I be alright?
Paranoia seems so much worse at night
Dad is up, my eyes don’t blink
I’ll be fine he says, bloomin energy drink!

So never again, I’ll be a good Daughter
I’ll probably now just stick to water,
You can drink so much just from the sink
And no more bloomin energy drink!!

I am the cover-up
Hiding your wrinkles and disguising the lines
On those who live like you,
And you are the RedBull and ***** on the rocks,
Giving nights on the run and mornings straight from hell,
To those who live like me.

Days crumble like the burning of your bridges
That you had precariously built upon nights
Full from the first sip to the last drops
Before the strange beds you awaken in.
Sleeping and slaving away by day
So that you can reign as Queen upon the Knight.

But, in time you will awake to find
That I am not there by your side,
And as you stumble to the mirror,
Your reflection without me has become something you despise.
So go from guy to disguise and know
You'll never find another as good to you as me.

You leave the apostrophes to someone else, I can't even make it in to 'im', instead I'm writing papers about the Oneida and Jonestown murders.
The television is on, the air purifier
is dying. I can hear the ***** fan belt of my laptop on the fritz or the fizzy bubbles of
The Cranberry Redbull that I'm trying.
I could be a great sport. Ya know, anything you want.

Jump to.

Make the Miso soup, clear off the kitchen table, buy brand new markers with no recent pictures drawn into their nibs.
Throw in comfy pants. I don't know what else I have to offer, a clean bath? Some books? A magazine?

The weather is exciting, we could call get Pneumonia or at least share a drink and catch Hep-C,
Put our children together to catch the gift of Shingles. A motorcycle toy for my Uritis it is better. The roses from the sweater paired with leather, leggings, and a kick *** song. Inside we can talk about his hair cut and going to California. I'm intimidated by you moreover when you tell me you can eat airplanes with only your bare hands. And even if I'm a bore, I still have Streptococcus. So seal and deliver. My cerulean goddess, with the best, thank  thank you for the nightmare fever you stole from the words I wrote.  And at the end of your book you don't have to cop out and fall along a crippled sky. With crippled words, verbs, and losers. Score cards of different colors. Tunics proud as the walk to the river we voted from Baptism to demon-voter. Stand and deliver, flora and fauna that threatens to eat our home.

i came around this neck of town
with a few suppositions about scotland.
Its a little admittedly a little odd willingly picking and packing  up
to sail across the sky
despite the little itch
painted on the inside of my eyelids,
brain, reminding me of people to whom I wont speak again
until they’re once again immediately in front of me.

(which means I’m kind of **** at staying in contact, even with the internet at my disposal.)
but even as technology laces the textures of communication
I constantly find myself in silence,
misplaced somewhere between the pages and the covers,
happily nestled in a place just as cozy as the beds i find myself in these days.

and when you move, there’s obviously going to be a mildly upsetting adjustment period when people ask you out for coffee and small talk.
Which is always weird, being forced through that routine when both parties know it
inevitably takes a little more than a strong cup of coffee and an exchange of pleasantries to get to know somebody.
personally, i prefer the pleasant haze of sunlit leaves
a meander through a forest, the back alleys of trees.
If you want to get to know me, take me out of society.
those coffee spoons and sugar cubes don’t mean anything to me.

when you grow to know me, you’ll see that this beauty’s only used to
sacrifice the loneliness of these panic attack blues.
black jeans, black docs, redbull and a bag of green
help me fly above this city, over the changing loyalties
the mettle of this skeleton’s made of the brittle bones of birds,
my wings are composed of their bitter words, (and that’s just fine)
(because) i’ve a tar pit where my heart is/
and it drips to fill the space that makes an artist’s hearts harden

but behind that internal la brea, I’ve been aptly middle named
because ive got a kinder ray behind
that shines for those who choose to stay.
not only for those who choose to stay, but for those who allow me in as well;
its hard to let a stranger in, should they let your secrets out,
but i’ve got a lockbox for a memory because i don’t remember a lot of things
so rest easy knowing that your words are and will be safe with me.

I know
when I go
to that the place I called
home will still show
on the mail I get
but my heart
was left behind in a haze of partial memory
and leaves I won’t again see green until a tender summer’s eve.

but until then, i have 53c murray place, the locals to my scottish life,
to keep me sane, or at least humane before the leaves have fully changed and
fallen from the trees completely.
when thats happened, i’ll have to leave.  
I’ll have to leave the grey skies and lichen foundation
and a forest full of sympathizers  and former strangers.
i remember standing on the rooftop as the breeze blew below
yelling to the people who will never think to look above the street they know.  
Roger, if heaven has a cell for me too, i’ll rent that **** as a timeshare,
so i can make a pretty profit off the constant loss of my memories and endowed indemnity.
and chrissie, you’ve been a sister to me, a parallel sort of emily
thats going to make leaving this new family
all the more difficult.
and robbie, i’m an old soul, as only you’d know.
classical music in the afternoon to soundtrack an empty flat,
at least i know you’ll follow me soon after i go back.

i remember leaving the flat for the second time, when i was sure i knew my way around,
i saw clouds fit for an easel
and a sun fit for a screen
harboring glory in every pixel.
and during that walk home,
english, french and spanish disappeared,
and i took no notice,
while i go on revising the quiet days i never intend to publish.

i didn't say a word.

the laughter was wrapping
tight about my neck.

two ex-girls were blushing,
my glance ricocheted off,
then landed on
my clasped hands.

i wasn't in charge of the party.
i only lived where it took place.

nobody had any alcohol,
everybody drank coffee or redbull;
talked with foreign
class.

i wasn't in charge of the music.
i only owned the stereo system.

so we listened to some pop-punkshit.
i started storing excuses,
in case someone asked me to dance.

the boys were all grinning.
the boys were all christians,
while they hunted their prey.

the girls were all grinning.
the girls were all christians,
while they still ran free.

i played priest.
kept my *** on the couch,
swore celibacy with every fired neuron.

lauren was gone,
and
amie threw a party.
she invited an army of
******* dressed exs
just to remind me i
hadn't outran my guilt.

the laughter started to wane,
people looked to me to stir
the conversation.

i didn't say a word.

i didn't breathe.
the weight of the room
was too heavy for me.

i cut myself from the stares,
someone asked where i was going,
my feet kept moving until
carpet
was traded for
concrete
was traded for
gas pedal
was traded for
anywhere distant.

I shouldn’t write about you, but tonight I went star gazing and I thought about everyone I’ve ever made love with.
Your name crossed my mind and it drowned me in a flood of memories.
The first time you came over, you took my shirt off like rapid fire. Your breath smelt of ****** cigarettes and Redbull.
You’ve been drinking.
Your hair was all over the place hitting me here and there. I tried to place my fingers in-between your locks. But eventually I took your shirt off.
Ten minutes passed by and we were naked. Your body below me and I was crouching lower and getting closer to your ******. I kissed your thighs, licked them gently like a lollipop, savoring the the taste of your skin.
No one would ever taste like you do against my teeth. My tongue. My mouth.
You were so wet. I was so *****.
We switched sides, you’re on top now. Your mouth against my neck, your teeth making way into my skin like a thirsty vampire you bit me.
Your hands slowly skimming my chest and tracing my tattoos.
Everything was so perfect wasn’t it?
The way the moonlight hit your body, the temperature of the room wasn’t freezing but when our bodies were close we could feel them melting.
Funny thing, we didn’t have ***, it took us three years for that to happen. I’m not sure if I wasn’t ready too or if I was afraid too.
But when we did, your body felt like an ocean, and I was drowning out at sea.
I had trouble breathing but you were like oxygen to my lungs and I was alive. More alive than I’ve ever been. Thinking I never loved you would be a lie, and I’ve been constantly telling myself I didn’t.
But ******* I did. I loved you so much, but you were the girl with crystal blue eyes that broke my heart. The girl that got away. The one who swam in the night sky and sunbathed perched on the crescent moon.
You often cross my mind and I won’t lie I miss you, our ****** friendship we had.
The reason being because you showed me how to love myself. I respect you for that, I respect you for the human you are. Even if your feet were cold with me, I learned and I lived, I was the hero in my own story.
You will always be an important piece of my life. Even if you’ve disappeared from
It, we were fire and gasoline.
We could’ve been beautiful.
We will never know now, and I’m okay with that.
You are greatly missed.

you made me feel like the hundred acre wood
and then you slowly rot my oaks where they stood
you burned the grass
soaking my soil with redbull and whisky
the maple sweet syrup you once adored now you find too sticky

I don't know you anymore and that is good.
Better than the falseness of your wind blowing through my wood.

i want to slow dance the spring away.
i fall in love with you everyday,
and if we don't have forever
that doesn't really matter.
the moments we've had together
are enough to set fire
to my hesitation
and ignite new intentions
this is worth all of the heartache
that i may later have to face.
and all of these days
have blown my mind
because i never thought there'd be a time
when i'd love again.
you're more than a boyfriend,
you're a best friend.
and in this splendor
your love is tender
i couldn't do better
than you if i tried.
when i'm with you i'm alive.
i'm glowing,
i'm holding
onto you
because i've never loved like this
i wish,
i could say i did
at one point
but i've never ever loved this way.
which is to say,
you make me feel like the world around me
could crash and burn
but i wouldn't care,
because you put out the flames in my head,
i could say it's not fair,
how i want to compare
you to every season
love you beyond reason
kiss you until i'm breathing
the air you're needing.
but thank you
for loving me,
when no one bothered
to give me a chance
and as we dance away the spring,
your smile's still my favorite thing.
baby, who needs redbull,
when you've already given me wings?

Travelling at a speed
as if for a moment part of my life got fast forward.
Like racing against time,
and I missed it by that many moments.
They come and go, some stay but
never too long.
They see me. I do too.
But they won't ever get me.
Me neither.
We're in it together,we make our presence known.
Yet, there's a very loud silence.

MJ's "They don't care about us" takes me back
into my world.
I'm thinking, perhaps, we don't care about us.

I'm looking out, walls of black.
Darkness.
I'd imagine kissing you.
Under the influence of my favorite redbull *****.
Grins.

The screeching sounds
erased that momentary thought.

I look away from walls of black.
I see you.
I thought, maybe I'd like to be you.
How would you talk?
What do you feel?
What do you think?

The rumbling sound of the doors,
as if telling the person at the other end to slow down.
Shifted attention, again.

They enter, like sardine packed.
As if my phobia wasn't already bad.
I can't breathe.
I might not make it to the next stop.
I might faint and like living dead,
grab hold of the handles and turn away.
On their seats just doze off.
And I'm there gasping for my inhaler.

The other side of the door opens.
I made it to that stop.

Empty spaces, empty seats.
There's you, you , you and you.
I'm running from this end to the other.
I'm laughing without a care.
You look at me and think I'm weird.
I look at you and roll my eyes.
I feel the wind gushes through.
I'm running almost the speed it's going.
For once I feel happy, again.
Like that child I'd lost while growing up.

It stops.
I look around from where I'd been standing.
I alighted.
The many doors shuts behind me.
Against the walls of black it left.

I don’t much know what she looks like.
I couldn’t tell you the color of her hair
Or the shape of her eyes
And if you put me in a crowd next to her I could spend years searching for her face
And never realize she was standing right next to me.
Because I don’t know who she was,
And her name is blank in my memory but
I know she had one because
What else would my father call her on those late nights my mom spent calling him,
Only for the 30 second condolences left by the voicemail recording,
No.
I don’t much know what she looks like,
But that doesn’t stop her from walking into my memory,
My mother’s memory,
All wide smiles and dark shadows and long fingers interlocked in his,
Interlocked in my childhood because
The other woman,
She doesn’t need a face to haunt me.
All she needed was four months and suddenly
She was lurking behind my closet door,
Under my bed,
The places in my head where the dark things hid,
She made a home behind my eyelids,
So that not even nightlights could protect me.
The other woman was a parasite,
And I watched as she wormed her way between them
Spreading sickness Redbull ***** could never seem to cure,
******* the love and then the life and then leaving them for dead.
Sometimes I hope that when she closes her eyes and lays down her head,
She can still taste it on her tongue,
The bitterness she created when she decided to become
The other woman.
She had hands like hammers and I never knew a home could be as fragile as china,
But watched as shards of porcelain fell at my feet,
Glowing red and blue.
Watched as my mother tried to pick up the pieces,
Her shaking hands always carrying more than she could hold.
Watched as my father, the artist,
Handed the paintbrush to the other woman,
Her masterpiece,
Our destruction.
Watched as the other woman became the only woman
Who could rip my heart out of my chest and still remain unknown.
Recently I met a girl in love.
Even with his wife and kids.
And I recognized the other woman in her smile, her laugh,
In her eyes which glowed happy.
Happiness I could never achieve because
I was the kid whose father stopped tucking her in
When he found a better pair of lips to kiss goodnight.
The tightness in my chest wouldn’t go away because
She told me I should try it.
But broken homes aren’t ice cream flavors.
Empty beds aren’t party drugs.
You don’t take a ruined life for a test drive and
I know now that other women exist,
But I could never hold a match to a family just to start a fire in my heart.
I don’t much know what she looks like,
But I know she’ll never look like me.

Prologue:

Good ol’ Phillip Riley. The reason I am restrained in handcuffs, struggling but not able to put up much of a fight, being carried away from my beautiful -was to be- home. The red and blue lights are splashing back from the wet asphalt onto my cold face. I can assume it will only get worse from here, but it was worth it. She should have never crossed our paths and I have now made sure she will forever regret her decision. The only thing to do now is try and convince the jury this was an innocent act of passion. We will see who’s side they are on, after they hear all of the gruesome facts. All in all, the punishment fits the crime, and I accept.

Chapter 1: Mayville

My name is Mayville Houston. I am a single woman in my early 30s, nothing special. I am a licensed market coordinator at a real estate firm. For those of you who do not know what that is, I handle all of the appointments and paperwork that has to do with putting a home on the market as well as taking the home through escrow when we find a buyer. I love my job and there is always something new every day, but there are parts of it that can be repetitive and difficult. All and all, it is an amazing job and it pays the bills, I am grateful.

I am a coordinator to two amazing agents who are top producers, and hit the ground running every year. Needless to say I have my hands full coordinating these two. It is a blessing and a curse. I am a top performer with the top performers, but a lot of the time my personal life is sacrificed for the customer. Give and take. I start work at 8, make my lunch at 12, finish the day, work out, meditate, journal, paint, and do the activities that keep me sane throughout the day. I love my little life and how hard i have worked to get here.

Although every day is different and interesting things arise, nothing was as interesting as the day Phillip Riley and his wife Amber Riley walked through our office doors. It was a Tuesday like any other, all of us, heads down in our cubicles focusing on our work. I was on my second Redbull of the day, kind of a fanatic for them at the time, i felt that they got me through the day. Of course it was just sugary carbs, but I would be the last person to admit that.

Philip and Amber Riley bursted through our doors around 3:30pm. They had an appointment with my agents regarding some gorgeous houses in the area of Orange County that had caught their eye. I heard them come in, and being my agent’s coordinator, I got up and greeted them kindly, welcoming them to our office and introducing myself as Mayville Houston, my agent’s coordinator who will be assisting with all appointments and paperwork as we take them through escrow. I explained to them how excited I was that my agent Mariela would be taking them to see potential future homes. Amber asked if I would be joining them. I respectfully said I had to stay here at the office and take care of other clients. I could have sworn I saw a flash of sadness in Phillip’s face when I said that, but i have always been one to imagine things. There is no way.

Mariela comes out of her office and introduces herself to Phillip and Amber. Everyone is excited to start phillip and amber’s journey of purchasing a home. I wish them luck and hurry back to my cubicle, but before doing so I hand them a business card, letting them know they can call, text or email me with any questions they had regarding their appointments and paperwork. Mariela, Phillip and Amber were on their way out of the door, and I scurried back to my cubicle, trying to ignore what just happened. I swear I felt electricity between myself and Phillip Riley, but I think all of this time spent in this cubicle has me imagining things that just are not true.

Chapter 2: Phillip

*******, did I just witness an angel walk into the same room as me? She is going to help my wife and I purchase a home in the suburbs?

This is crazy. I am 35, settling down with my gorgeous wife Amber. She has strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, skin as fair as a cherub angel, and a smile that could knock you dead. We are newly weds, so happy to be too. We recently married last August, and when we started discussing a more permanent place, neither of us could be happier about the idea.

But that was before I saw her. Mayville Houston. Apparently Mayville is what they call a “coordinator” in the real estate world. She deals with all of our paperwork, appointments, and assisting us through escrow. I did not know what that job entailed until she told me. Until her soft, plump lips and perfect smile explained her role as her luscious, brown curls bounced off of her shoulder. She was wearing a navy pencil skirt with a matching blazer. I tried to imagine what ******* were wrapping her perfect bottom. Tight waist, fat ***, *******, gorgeous face, hair and smile. Needless to say, Mayville took my breath away. Our first meeting was with Mariela only, Mayville did not attend. I was a bit saddened to hear she wouldn’t be joining, but i understood. I am a good man, a hard worker, a loyal husband… well, I was, completely, before i saw her, before i knew i had to have her, before i would stop at nothing to get her.

I think Mayville is my true soulmate. That is what my heart is telling me, right now…


Chapter 3: Mayville

A chip, Wednesday afternoon in February. For some reason, winter in California starts late. I am digging away at work for my deals when our office door opens. Usually i wouldn’t spare a second glance, but I realize right away who it is.

Phillip Riley stands, waiting for a greeting by our door. I stand up and straighten my outfit. I wear the same pencil skirt matching blazer combo, but today’s color is black. I walk up to him and chirp a quiet “Hello, Mr. Riley.” He smiles and says “why hello Miss Houston”. My knees want to buckle at his voice. It is like caramel dripping down a sundae on a hot day. His pressed, white shirt with a bright blue tie to compliment his perfectly chiseled jawline with just the right amount of stubble. He is about 6’5”, and has grey pants and very shiny dress shoes to compliment his white shirt and jawline. His hair is ***** blonde, but starting to grey. There is just something about this ******* man.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Riley?” I say, putting more confidence in my voice. “Please, call me Phillip”, he says warmly. He then explains to me he is meeting my agent Mariela, they have an inspection today, an appointment to ensure the property is in good condition, and his wife couldn’t make it due to being stuck at work. I get a little excited when he mentions Amber is not here. “Wait right here”, I say cheerily. “I will get Mariela for you right away.” I rush down the hall to let Mariela know that Phillip is here. She gets up and walks toward her door. Right before she walks out of it, she looks me dead in the eye and says “I see the way you look at him. Just be careful. Marriages are nothing to get involved in.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze and walks out. I love Mariela. She has always been like a mother figure to me. But something about the way she says that makes me shudder. I follow behind her quickly, heading back to my cubicle but hopelessly wanting to see Phillip one more time.

I watch them walk out the door. Phillip thanks me again, flashes me a smile, and walks out the door.

I can’t be imagining this electricity I feel between us. But Mariela is right, marriages are nothing to get involved in…

Chapter 4: Phillip

Another appointment that does not include Mayville. I am starting to get irritated. But I understand, she has to stay in her office and tend to other clients, like me. Each one’s needs different than the last. But I am not sure any of them have the needs i have…

I need her. I need to feel her on me, pressed against me, i need to feel what it is like to be inside of her, to release myself inside of her. God, what is wrong with me? I am married to Amber! We were talking about kids the other day! What is this feeling that has come over me recently? I cannot be feeling this way about another woman when we are searching for a house together. Am i completely insane? I need to nip these feelings in the bud before anything can get out of control. They are completely out of nowhere anyway. So I can make them go away out of nowhere too.

Mariela and I finish up the inspection, and she takes me back to her office since i left my car there. I notice there are lights still on in the building, and there is a silver honda civic still in the parking lot. I do not know, but i am hoping this is Mayville's car. I just want to see her one more time, her perfect body, in that tight matching professional outfit. Her pencil skirts drive me absolutely insane. ****, my train of thought got too crazy again. I. Am. A. Married. Man.

Mariella says goodnight to me. I say goodnight back and start to get in my car, and that is when I start to see her thick curls, flowing in the wind. I know I shouldn’t, but ****, I get back out of my car and walk towards her, while she is walking to her car.

“Hi Mr. Riley, er, I mean Phillip.” God, she is so ******* cute in addition to being so ******* ****.
“Hi, Mayville.” I say back. “You can call me May..” she says shyly. Why is she so cute?
“Okay, May. So what are your plans for this evening?” Innocent, but poking. “I was just going to head home… maybe have a glass of whiskey and binge some shows..” she says. “How about coming with me to the bar down the street?” I say, a bit more excited than I meant to.
I can see in her eyes she is unsure, but she nods silently. I motion for her to get in my car, and we ride together in silence to the bar about 5 minutes from her office. We get out of my car and I notice both of us fixing our attire. Curious, how both of us care how we look to one another tonight. I motion for her to walk in front of me as we walk to the front door of the bar. I open the door for her and tell the waitress we would like a table for 2. As we wiggle into our booth, our hands touch and it is hotter than a burning star. I know we both feel this, we have to. It is only a matter of time before I get my confirmation.

Chapter 5: Mayville

Oh my god. I cannot believe i am at a bar with a client. A client who I am assisting him and his wife in buying a home, mind you. He asks me what I would like. I shyly say “an old fashioned.” He grins from ear to ear and tells me that is his drink of choice as well. Am I imagining all of this? I already feel dizzy and we haven’t even gotten our drinks yet. The golden liquid with a slice of an orange peel arrives in front of us. We do a gentle cheers and I **** down half of my drink. Not only am I nervous but this week has been particularly tough and an old fashioned sounded like the best thing on earth at the moment. He says “eager, are we?” with that buttery voice that could melt a thousand candles at the same time. I smile nervously and just say “sorry, stressful week.” He knocks back half of his drink as well and just smiles at me. As if this man could get any sexier, *******. I smile and take another sip of my drink. I can’t help myself, I let myself melt in front of this man. I know he is married and nothing can happen between us, but something about him makes me feel safe enough to let my guard down. A warm home, in a winter storm,

We both have 3 drinks each. Cheeks burning red, I start to regret my decision a bit. I should not be out with a married man on a weekday. Truly, I can’t help myself at this point. We are both giggling about things each other has said. I smile, he smiles back. My hazel eyes glimmer with interest, hope, lust.

He pays the bill and we start walking out of the bar. I stumble once and he catches me. Even his touch is as soft as an angel. He leads me into his car, but instead of helping me into the front, he helps me into the back. I slowly ask “what are you doing?” He just shushes me and gets in the back too, on the opposite side of me. Once we are both inside of his car, he clicks the lock button, and puts up his front window shade.

I start to panic. What is happening? I cannot be doing this with a married man. What am I doing? What is he doing? What is going on?

As if he senses my panic, he grabs my face gently with both of his hands. He asks me gently to look at him, and i have no other choice, so I do. “It’s okay, I want this”, is all he says, before I see him lean forward to me and lets his lips touch mine. I feel his tongue part my lips and my eyes roll to the back of my head. He tastes like heaven and I can’t believe this is happening. Suddenly I am more confident than I have ever been. I am pulling up my skirt and I am unbuckling his belt and undoing the button on his pants at the same time. I feel the warm bulge in his boxers and I moan. I rub up against him once, showing him how much I want this too. He removes himself from his boxers and drags himself across my ****. I let out a wimper and he plunges his **** into my ***** full force. I let out a sharp gasp and he cups my mouth. I can’t believe this is happening. He feels so good, I could cry. I start to grind my hips down onto him. I see him release his arms and throw his head back, letting me know my movements are providing him what he wants. He places his hands on my hips as he thrusts into me as well. Each ****** and pull of his hands is harder than the last. I look into his glossy eyes and exhale deeply. He grabs my face, says “I’m..” and before he is finished, his tongue is back down my throat and I feel his hot liquid pumping inside of me. I bite his lip as I feel each pump inside of me. He grabs and ***** my ******* as we both finish climaxing together. His car windows are steamy, and we are both breathing hard. He looks up at me as I am still straddling him, and kisses me hard. He looks deep inside my eyes and says “now that i have had you, I won’t be able to stop.”

He drops me off at my car, and drives away. Leaving me shivering a bit in the night cold. But I don’t care. What I do care about is I just had crazy, beautiful *** with a man who i believe is my soulmate. I know he is married, but he is not married to the right woman…

Im very proudly the best friend of a survivor.
Believe me when I met her I thought "who is this pompous Richy rich *****"
Then we met again when things had changed a little. When there were bigger things than what brand you wore.
When there was small feet growing inside of us and a fire burning in our soul.
This woman has changed me. She has reminded me what mental strength looks like. What it looks like to be "just a normal teen" when at home you are shattered and drowning. She listened to my "I have read baby center all night and I know it all now" rants and held me when I didn't think I could continue. We have gone months without talking to each other and called one another at 3am. She survived ****** assualt at a young age, she survived multiple abusive men, she survived her own inner demons and continues to do so everyday. As for me...Well I am her best friend. I am the one who is constantly checking in with her and adjusting myself to her needs. Why? Because I love her and I need her to be okay too. I am the one who sees redbull and breakfast sausage and smiles because I know her morning routine. I am the girl doubled over laughing with no makeup on in my ugliest PJs because she so innocently looked up from her phone and had no idea what I had just said. But watching her try to confidently tell me she heard me was the best thing I had seen all week. I am here for her. I am here for me. I am here for a lifelong friendship that means sometimes I don't always agree with her and sometimes we will get mad. But she is worth it. The girl I first met, the woman she has become, the woman she will find herself to be....That survivor....She's my best friend.

This city reveals itself as sunset-less.
I never thought I'd miss
the way death is soft
in the fist. The night
is loud, the windows shutter
in their frames.

I can't stop picturing her face.

I drink Redbull for dissociation,
Trying to caffeinate my desperation,
As if I could vibrate into the 4th dimension
To find myself again.

It’s just not healthy to keep your mind up past its capacity.
As romanticized as 4am is, you brain will lose elasticity.
Just give it up and go close your eyes.
Save your energy for the sunrise.

It's a saturday evening. I'm sipping a cold redbull and *****, talking with a loved one. When suddenly one sentence, one look, one change in tone, and all the puzzle pieces fall together. But it all lacks one, do I have my father's eyes?

October 21st 2017.
This is the day I found out, I do not know my biological father.

Let's rewind back to June 25th 1993 roughly 7pm, I was born.
This is the story I was told from that day forth.

In September of 1992 my dad met my mother through mutual friends at a party, he said she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He knew he had to pursue her, for weeks she told him no, he wasn't her type, but he gave it one last attempt with two Reba McEntire concert sometime in October. At first she said no, but my grandmother insisted she atleast give the poor boy a shot and go. So days later she reached out to say she would go out with him. Little did she know he had already sold the tickets thinking she wasn't going to go. But, being the persistent ****** he is, he picked her up anyways but took her to a friends house get together instead, they slept together that night and I was concieved. Now this last part was only revealed to me at age 12 when I started to put some pieces together, but in my head I was just busting my mom on Pre-Marital *** which felt great towards a mother who was so over controlling I wasn't allowed to date until 17 years of age, and I mean so much as a Co-Ed birthday party. She knew where I was 24/7/365 and if she didn't all hell broke loose. But to get back on topic. My parents fell in love, mom soon realized what an amazing man he was and then shortly the found out they were pregnant. They decided to get married on December 26th 1992.
That was my story.
Rather, that was the one they delicately fabricated by the people who's sole life lesson to me was, Honesty was the most important thing in the world.

Fast forward to age 14.

I find out my mother is having an affair, physical proof. To be honest, she did not hide it at all. My father worked all over the US, hotel to hotel for up to 3 week at a time. When he was gone, she was gone.
"I'm going to the grocery store and to run an errand and then I'll be home. What do you want for dinner?"
"The boys want sonic and a chocolate milkshake sounds pretty **** good."
"Alright, I'll see y'all in a little bit."

....
3 days later.
Her car is halfway parked on the curb, halfway slanted in the driveway. It's running and the lights are on, I wake up around 7:30, get the boys breakfast, I've already called dad worried but he assures me she is just probably with a girlfriend and will be home after we're in bed. He ordered us pizza to be delivered with his card. I proceeded to call all jails and hospitals just to check. I know she's most likely ****** up, with another man or worse hurt or dead.
I hear something and go outside to check, I see her. In the car passed out. I pull her out, no response. She's breathing fine but obviously not ******* waking up. I'm scared. I try to pull the car out of the street. It's parked like ****, but out of the road. I couldn't drive stick but it would do.
I put the boys in their room with a movie and some yogurt "Breakfast in bed & Veggietales. Our little secret". I drag her up 2 flights of stairs. Into the bedroom, the bathroom and into a tub of ice water. She comes to but just ask for water and where she is.
I lay her to bed with water, a trash can, warm towel and bell.
I tell dad and he says to just let her hang out, she's just hungover. I think wow, hangovers are gnarly.
2 days later, she's fully coherent, begging for forgiveness. She promises to never do it again. Unsurprisingly, she would break that promise consistently forever the remainder of my life.
She was with a man named Eugene, coked out. At a ******* doing ecstasy. The product, a pregnancy of a mixed child. Which I only add as an important role in, my father being Caucasian, it would be well known. But she leaves him, comes clean to dad and he says he will raise the child. Believing her when she says it's a very small chance, a one night stand. A mistake and most likely the child was indeed his.
She lost the child. A few months later.
She broke.

I don't know if any of that is true now.

Fast forward to 16.

She's openly at it again. For months she's seeing an old high school fling. He lives there when dad is gone. I tell my father everything, text messages, pictures, grotesque even.. all of the evidence and it ends the same as always. He's mad, then she's mad, he apologizes, begging for love and forgiveness. She successfully manipulates him and then the wrath is on me.
She's pregnant again.
This time, she denies it all to him. It's his child. It's his child.
My beautiful little brother is born.
And now I know that not only do I not know mine and everyone else truly knew, he too will not know. And I don't know if I could break his heart. This man is trash.


Fast forward to 24.

We're talking about my parents, my mom. How everyone knows Jacoby's father is not dad. But he is in denial.
I laugh.
"Ya know, I wouldn't be surprised if my father isn't my biological father."
....
He did not laugh.
"Britt.. there's always been a conspiracy but no one really knows. But no one thought you could handle it, or they feared your mother's recoil."

........
It doesn't sink in. I get home. And I rack my mind over and over. Where do I start? Who do I ask? Why didn't they tell me? Was he bad? Will I ever know?
...
Could he love me?
Do I have his eyes? I've always wondered why mine were different.
My smile, its huge. Does his radiate the same way?
Is he kind?
Would he want to know?
Do I want to know?..

Yes.
The hunt begins. I give into impulse and call my Mimi, moms' mother. She sighs long and hard and I know. It's true.
All she can tell me is it was a short lived fling, an attractive young man, a few years older than mom. Tousled blonde curls and the most beautiful blue grey eyes. MY eyes.
His name is Michael. He was from Marietta. And lived in Hughes Springs at the time. No last name. No job known. Not where they met. Mutual friends. Just those three things over and over.
Michael.
Blonde curly hair.
Blue eyes.

It has to be.
Facebook, classmates.com, high school records. I drive to Hughes Springs a kind retired teacher keeps the small town library open an hour later for me to review yearbooks. 1987-1994.
Two matches, but it's still not much to go on. I need proof.
I call uncle, grandparents I haven't had a relationship with since childhood. Not one extra bit of information is found.
Except this, the father that raised me. He knew, I was not his.
So what do I do now?
Somehow get DNA from my father and pay hundreds of dollars to test it?
To get proof that he's not?
I can compare blood types..
But who's to say they will tell me the truth?
Will they ever tell me where I get my eyes?
I'll lay in bed all night long, staring into the abyss, trying to find a way to find you.

...to be continued..