part II

The tears fell harder upon her tired shoes. All she had wanted was a little reprieve, an escape if only momentarily. Her body sunk to the sidewalk with her back to the wall and her face in her hands. Thoughts raced wildly through her fragile mind. She was a phantom bride if only for a day.

No one concerned themselves with until one woman passed and stopped. She looked back over her shoulder and turned back toward the girl. She stood silently for a moment unsure of what she could say to the sad girl. The woman was busy, she had things she needed to do, but it would wait a bit longer.

The woman was older. It was obvious that her shoes as well had traveled a similar path somewhere in time. She made a point of avoiding pysical contact. A little concern was all that would be necessary.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you need help? Is there something I can do?"

The girl was taken by surprise having not noticed that someone was standing before her. She looked up toward the voice and wiped her eyes. Confused, she shook her head. There was nothing the woman would be able to do for her now.

Dejected the woman walked away. She looked back a few seconds later. The girl was gone.

part I

She walked down the street with her head down. She did not want the random passersby to notice the tears freely falling on her shoes. She walked alone with no idea where she would end up. A destination was never the priority. She stopped at her favorite bookstore. Maybe a book would cheer her up or at least allow her to escape to someone else's world for a bit. A girl of sixteen should not have been burdened with the heavy load of what had transpired the night before. She was witness to a murder that had not taken place yet. What fraction of innocence she still claimed was dangerously faltering. A decision was necessary and due sooner rather than later.

The sun was selfish with its warmth, remaining behind the clouds. People passed by at vigorous paces with no regard to how beautiful the trees appeared under casted shadows from the intermittent sunshine. Birds wandered and hopped about the sidewalk for morsels of food that could only be salvaged from the complacency of human beings to disregard what they did not consume themselves. The vendors swept and cleaned their storefronts in the hopes of drawing new business, but it never comes. She stopped, peeked in the window. It was closed.

ahhh... the things we'll do

So, what is it we will do for a dollar? Not enough? How about a thousand dollars? A million? Is there a limit to what we will sell ourselves for? Me, I won't. Not for any amount will I sell out what means the most to me or the things that are priceless to begin with. I could take a few hundred and finally get those tats I wanted done for so long. I could catch up on the bills that plague us all. I could pay my car off or move to a better house or get furniture that makes the place feel a little more like home or get f'd up beyond belief because I feel like it. None of which is worth the price I might have to pay. It shouldn't even be a question. Money rules too many to such an extent that I wish it was never a consideration in the first place.
Do what you must. Do what you will. Remember though, that there is always a price to pay and sometimes the wager is far more than you could have seen to begin with. Are you willing to sell something that may never be available for purchase again? Do what we must. But live with the consequences. You alone are responsible for the outcome. I'm preaching, I know. Kettles and pots aren't we all?
Tell me please what you have done to discern between the right and the righteous. Tell me what makes us all too human. What makes us all question our very own existence and suurender what we knew forever? I never will know for sure. I'd like to think that there are those of out there who thrive on the fact that we are humans and we all feel these emotions and pains and crossroads and dilemmas. Perplexing at best, do we opt for the road less traveled or the one that simply feels right? Again, I am ranting, but it is theraputic and necessary. We all have our vices. You know it's true.

diary of a suicide

you took the low road,
the easy road,
the road that led to nowhere
and left us all behind
to pine and whine about
the unfair loss of selfish endeavors...
sliced yourself
with kitchen knives
and finished off with
narcotic surprise
so eyes could close upon
your personal hell that
could not be righted
in your mind...
no matter how much
we said we would hold you up
and dismiss the bold attempts
to hide the skulls buried deep
in your backyard
among the hard roots of the
dogwood and cypress
you failed to supress
and regressed to become
one of those bones...
you can never go home

origami

She tore her body to shreds, like a scrappy little ragdoll. Razorblades were the tool but not the motivation. Why did she feel like she had to punish herself like that? She cut and ripped and tore the flesh away. No matter how much it suffered she continued to mutilate her body. They would certainly have deemed her insane if they had witnessed the torture self-inflicted.
When the cutting ceased, she stood tall in the mirror and stared long at the work of art she had created. And she smiled. Her face was no longer recognizable. The blood fell hard to the floor. It splattered on her toes. "No need for nail polish now," she said with a sideways laugh. She never saw herself so beautiful.
The mirror was shattered and deceiving. She should have died sooner from the injuries. She lasted long enough for a final prayer and turned the bathtub faucet on as hot as it would go. She poured the salt in but left the bubbles alone. And then she said, "Goodnight." Someone else would have to feed her pet rat from now on.

untitled one

The wedding had only been planned for a couple of months. It was a hasty decision at best. They agreed that there was no need for the traditional and expensive ceremony. After all, they had both been here twice before. Neither of her first weddings were beautiful. One took place at a chapel in Vegas and the other at the courthouse. This time she wanted it to be beautiful. It was the one thing she asked of him. He had made her that promise.

Times were hard for the two of them though. Recent misfortune had allowed them only a few hundred dollars to proceed with the nuptuals. She forgave the dress, the flowers, the band, and reception spirits. She loved him. She was in love with him. It was the first time in her life she had ever been in love.

She woke up early, around four in the morning to make herself as lovely as she felt. After several cups of coffee, a very hot shower, and an hour of staring at the dress she had made for herself, she went on to ready for the day. His best and only friend had arrived to pick her up. "He's a lucky man today," he said with a tear subtly forming in his eye. They exchanged a quick embrace and left.

The drive was mostly silent. Her mind had drifted to an unknown place. When they arrived, her eyes flooded with tears. His friend, knowing what awaited her, hadn't told her anything about the changes he had made. He too was in love for the first time in his life. He wanted to make this day the best he could possibly make it for her.

He had spent the past few months growing a garden for the flowers. Wildflowers, her favorite. He even had a flower for her hair. He arranged for a violinist to play the music. Pacabel's Canon in D. A table was spread with a cake and glasses of champagne, enough for everyone there. And her brother, whom she had not spoken with in years stood smiling and ready to walk her down the aisle. He couldn't give her much, but he gave her all he had in him. It was more than she could have hoped for. She knew then that everything her heart had told her was right.