The Right Write Rite

Is this peculiarity a part of life or is it strategically placed warning signs, set up to urge caution? Strategically placed warning signs set up to instill a healthy fear? There to let one know of the strangeness that is around the next couple of turns? Should these peculiarities become integrated into life to become desensitized to these warning signs? It's only a matter of time before the bells begin and then those signs will make more sense. only a matter of time before those signs will vaguely haunt the memories, where the topic was of wonder to what those signs could be. Vaguely haunting memories of wondering what they said. The pondering of slowing down, and reading what they said.
But now the bells are going off; stealing the attention from those thoughts. Those vaguely haunting memories no longer make much sense. And now the bells are going ...

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Wake up, out of bed

Take some aspirin-- for my head

water catches in my throat,

gag reflex is 'coming known

grab my stomach, choke it down,

gasp for air and look around,

eyes are tired, clothes are sloppy-

stumble over, turn on coffee.

feeling hungry, need to eat

open fridge, eggs I'll beat.

Whisk them up into the pan,

dropped the pepper, burned my hand.

Slide them out onto my plate-

I'll soon regret the food i ate,

stomach's queezy; lasts all day

rarely does it go away.

Drink some water; compensation

hunger has such little patience. --

Time just seems to disappear

Like the noises in my ears,

coming, going all day long

making such a mundane song,

plug up ears to make it stop,

in my head a light bulb pops!

Start my own tune, play it loud

know that one day I'll be ...

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sandwich

one sandwich

One sandwich on the table.

I am so hungry. It looks so good. I'm alone.

Surely, no one would notice if I took it. Only one sandwich. The bread looks fresh, the lettuce is crisp.

No one is looking at me. The waitresses are in the back. The customers are turned to their own plates, as I would be if I had any money in my pocket. I reach my hand out so it is hovering just over the sandwich. And I try to decide.

What is the sandwich worth? What is my hunger worth? My hand is restless, anxious for a decision. My nose is anxious, tasting the air around the sandwich. My mouth is watering. My eyes are large. But still my hand hesitates. It reaches back into my pocket, feeling around for any change, any misplaced bill that might have gone unnoticed. Empty ...

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Dizzy

Everything spins

The knife slips, falls, clatters

There is blood on her hands, welling up in beads

She stares at it in detachment. Her hand shouldn't be bleeding, she was just slicing grapefruit. This is not right.

The pain suddenly kicks in, and she clutches her wounded fingers in surprise. Jerkily, she reaches for the roll of paper towels and rips off a sheet. She uses the towel to blot at the blood coming off of her hand. Three of her fingers have thick slices in them.

"Oh no..." She whispers hoarsly. The dizziness returns and she grabs for the counter with her uninjured hand. Everything spins again, and she crumples to the floor. Overhead, the ceiling fan rotates in lazy circles, each rotation making a soft 'sshhp' noise that echoes throught the apartment. She still clenches the paper towel to her cut fingers, and belatedly realizes that ...

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Edible

Love story

A feast for the senses.

I have never told anyone how we first got together.

I had never met anyone so fantastically devoted to their senses as she was. She sought out beautiful things, places.

She hated discordant sounds. But it was her sense of taste that she luxuriated in. No place was this more overtly displayed than at the dinner table. The place were family gathered to meet and share a good meal, where anyone could witness a person's flagrant wantoness for edible delights.

She had a way of eating that made any red-blooded hetero man have to adjust himself, thankful for the napking that resided in his lap. The closed eyes and parted lips were more often witnessed in the confines of a bedroom than in the public forum of the dining room. Worst of all were the noises she couldn't help but ...

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comedy

comedy, tragedy

Is that honest to deny?

Is it honest to deny comedy in the world?

Can you really say that it's honest to deny that there is comedy as well as tragedy in the world?

You claim that life is nothing but long endless suffering, but that's ridiculous! It's not true and everyone knows it's not true. You know it's not true. Life is a tragedy and a comedy. You can't have one without the other and it's not honest to deny either of them.

Most comedy is born from tragedy, and you can find comic moments in the most tragic of times. Some of the times when I have laughed hardest were at funerals. I have a theory that they are not altogether unpleasant occasions. There is the displeasure of seeing someone who is not longer alive. There is the ...

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I don't make enough sense.

I can get too intense.

I'm easily mislead.

I tend to live inside my head.

I'm just enough off the charts to be considered "that one".

So I'm a little in the red, but not by a ton.

So then why in this world with so much chaos

Do people like me get such terrible pay-offs?

I don't want to murder, I don't want to kill.

I have dreams in this world that I'd love to fulfull!

But when I get that look it's hard to get by,

The thoughts in my head are hard to subside.

In eyes I see that look of distaste,

and without a beat I make a move with haste

to leave the situation without a scene

wondering why all must be so mean

Those looks fill my heart with feelings of ...

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screaming

she screamed

Very loudly in her head

she sat alone in the empty laboratory observing her screaming

Everyday was a struggle. She struggled to peel away from her bed in the morning. She reminded herself to breath

Why? That was all that she could ask. No one and nothing could provide any answer. She sank. She sank into an emotional blackhole so deep that she wished she had listened to her shrink. She was stubborn. She believed that she could win this battle without any help, ever.

Her faith started to crumble this time. She was justifying. She knew he was not the reason for her agony. She had not been happy long before their path crossed. She had sought outside for her misery all these years. She had blamed everyone else for what she was going through. Now, she was crying for help, inside. She wanted to break ...

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Tipsy

gettin' tipsy

in the club getting tipsy

I can't believe how much I hate that stupid song.

"If you hate it so much, why are you singing it?" he muttered under his breath. He took a sip.

She glanced at him, and wondered if this was going to turn into a fight. "I don't know, it's an ear worm. I feel compelled. It's so trashy though, don't you think?" She prayed that he would agree. She watched him carefully, attempting to appear casually disinterested in his answer.

He swirled the drink in his hand, and briefly glanced at the woman standing further down the bar. She had unnaturally jet black hair. Obviously dyed. He liked that look, and he liked the ideas it implied about the person sporting that look, but found that more often than not it was merely a costume. She was ...

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Believe

Love hurts

He missed her green eyes

He missed her loud, un-ladylike laughs. Her crooked smile, her attitude.

As the legendary heroes crossed the desert, all he could think about was her. He thought about the women that tore them apart.

The prince had fallen in love with a rogue. Why could they not respect that, why couldn't they respect how much they depended on each other. How much they had both changed just by listening, forgiving, defending, and trusting. She had forgotten all about that. All she now saw was a prince hungry for power, hungry for an heir, but really, he was starving for happiness.

She had attacked him, she had tried to kill him. He couldn't get the last time they had seen each other out of his head. Her bright olive green eyes staring into the distance, tears making them shimmer. Her wings ...

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