It’s nothing physical
But it’s still yours
RDP Prompt: Parcel
It’s nothing physical
But it’s still yours
RDP Prompt: Parcel
It’s always been you.
It seems only appropriate that I post something for the last daily prompt
Retrospective (interesting note, the actual link says “afterthought” not retrospective)
All the broken things,
Shattered glasses and
Tinged with red sunset
Tear stained eyes.
All the pieces of our souls,
Scattered by junkyard choirs
Over matching dresses
And pearlescent necklaces.
Limping toys with busted voices,
Parades of soft things, purple and bruised.
All the little broken things …
I’m choking on every real life daydream;
Every fairytale, happily ever after ending.
Smoke from a fire obscuring reality,
Lit from the day we were born into this commonality.
No wonder we drug rust laden nails at each others throats,
What more was there to believe in
When the magic we were fed was all smoke screens and jokes.
Having been recently informed the daily prompts are coming to an end I felt the need to at least try and write something …
“Mama, just killed a man …”
My only thought as I lean back against the stiff seats of a decrepit Cadillac.
“What year is this fucking thing?” I kick at the peeling floorboard fabric. When I don’t get an answer I sigh heavily. “It was rhetorical anyway. Leather fucking shoes … What is that anyway? Cow? Pig?”
A life long believer in animal rights I wrinkle my nose and muster every ounce of spit I have to project across his boots. “Fucking gross.”
The man beside me remains a statue, eyes glued to the sagging fabric above us.
Radio static impertinently interrupts Mr. Mercury. “Man, fuck this car.”
I kick my heels, stained a deep glossy red, to the waiting chasm of peeling carpet and random trash. “I’d ask you to get my zipper but frankly my dear …” I throw the man a sheepish look over my shoulder. Remnents of our drinks from earlier mixed with an ill advised nacho platter for one dribbled down his chin. My stomach rolled. “Frankly I don’t want you fucking touching me.”
I peel the bodycon dress from my curves with the precision of someone who’s undressed in front seats one too many times. Away it goes too, this time to the hungry mouth of the backseat, a gaping hole of no return from the looks of it.
Stepping from the stagnant car into the cool fall air I finally feel free. The creeping spider sensation no longer makes it’s way up my spine, into my fingers or my jaw.
No more do I feel the need to scream and yell, to clutch the last breaths of whatever is near between my crimson fingernails. The grass on my bare feet, the moon beaming down on my gentle windblown hair, sets me at ease.
“Do you feel that?” Gleefully I lean towards the opened passenger door. The statue of a man stares up to the sagging fabric with eyes of opaque glass. “You know?” I continue, “There really are two wonders in life, birth and death. You, sir, certainly make a fine addition to one of those.”
My sequined bag lay just inside the door, where it would ultimately stay. “But first!” I clap my hands and wiggle my hips as I snatch the matches from their designated spot. “It has been a lovely evening. I hope you fulfill all your wildest dreams and all that other bullshit no one ever really means.”
It’s amazing what a small orange flame can accomplish in an old Cadillac. I stand by, absorbed in the crackling flame. It dances and licks at the decrepit car. I throw my arms in the air and dance to the fading sounds of Queen playing on loop in my head. Feeling particularly at ease I even attempt a small bit of air guitar.
“Alas, there’s a reason I never joined a band but I must now bid you adieu.”
The wind is picking up. I know it will carry the scent of the fire, bringing curious onlookers and emergency workers far sooner than I anticipate.
No worries, even if they came now there would be barely a thing left.
With that I begin the slow tumble from cloud nine although I hate to admit I am tumbling faster these days.
I walk, naked and alone, down the abandoned road. The smell of the burn at my back, at least there is still one thing to put me at ease.
The next morning my husband caresses our daughter’s hair while I make our son’s breakfast.
“Did you hear?” He almost hisses the words across the spacious kitchen. “They found another one.”
“Another what dear?” I pluck our son from the playpen and strap him gingerly into the highchair, giving his nose a little tweak. “Eat your cereal.”
“Another burned car, another body.” My husband pulls me close, forever my protector. I giggle as I push his hands away.
“Aren’t they always men? Perhaps it’s me who should be holding you.” He flashes that pearly white smile while running his hands through perfectly gelled locks.
Already I can feel the spiders creeping along my spine, working their way into my fingers, along my jaw line.
I sigh, hoping to dispel them if even for a moment.
You should feel guilty.
But as the news cycle runs on loop in my mind I feel none.
Today I continue with my probably somewhat annoying reposts of late … This one’s from June of 2016, probably one of the first things I posted on here. I’ve done a little touching up here and there but it remains mostly the same.
Smooth Like Silk
Just outside the sliding glass doors a bike rumbled to a stop. A man wrapped in leather and jean astride.
“Oh shit.” I peered from behind the counter as his helmet revealed dark curls and a wicked smile. I ducked behind the counter and watched him wander the aisles from between the sexist smutty magazines.
The gears in my mind grinded into overtime. Images of a secret prince in dark armor rescuing me from my tower overlapped with the sweet sound of Pink Floyd over the PA system.
The deep voice pushed me back. In the process of nearly taking the magazine rack down with me packs of gum and escapee candy bars clattered to the ground.
“Hi.” My breath caught in my throat. I was face to face with the wicked smile. My cheeks burned as I caught a glimmer in those dark brown eyes. “Um.” I ring my hands behind my back. Wait, does this make it look like I’m trying to get him to look at … my eyes fell down towards my chest. I wrapped my arms around my torso instead. Stop being so fucking awkward!
His laugh brought me back from my mental beating. “Are you ok? I just need a pack of Marlboro.”
Fucking great. Now he’s laughing at me. “Uh, yeah, sure. What kind?” That smile. I leaned on the counter as my knees grew weak.
“Reds.” My eyes travelled down as he reached for his wallet. No! Don’t look there! But, if I turn to get the Reds he’ll see my ass. Does my ass look good today? I’m wearing those stupid baggy pants … Why don’t I buy skinny jeans like everyone else? “Uh, the reds are up there in the corner.”
“Oh …” I followed his gaze behind me. He’s not paying attention to you, he just wants the cigarettes. Quit being so fucking awkward! “Yeah. Uh, one pack?”
I fumbled with his money, change dripping between my fingers as I tried to maintain any shreds of dignity the mystery man wouldn’t be making off with.
That wicked smile again, “Thanks darlin.” His fingers stroked my hand as he grabbed the Marlboro’s. Did he just touch me? Like on purpose? Catatonic shock isn’t the normal reaction I’m sure but as my brain sputtered to put together anything that could have been missed in my bumbling interactions I felt myself shorting out.
Outside the bike rumbled awake. The heat receded from my cheeks. I dropped my head into my hands.
Wow. Fucking smooth.
I haven’t done this in a week or two and I need some help getting things stirred around again so here we go.
Prompt: Narcissism *of course it is*
Music: Ghostpoet – Dark Days + Canapés (very much recommend him)
Alright, 10 minutes on narcissism – here we go ….
You like guns, weapons of mass destruction
Requirements in a world
Blow down walls,
Abstract pieces of death
You never knew you could be.
Shreds of humanity
Staring back at you
From garbage bag souls.
Of back alley way holes,
Well, well little girl
How’d you end up here?
Masks are the one thing
You ever truly taught me.
Paint them, wear them
Paste that smile,
With a flick of the wrist
And darling doe eyes
Bait for the next fight.
Perfection in reality,
Matching clothes and
Cringes at your words,
Smooth as silk,
Like slime sliding
Down sewer walls
Bruises you can see
Complemented by deadly cuts
Worthless unless you find value
In our innocence,
Value in our ignorance.
Cut down inch by inch,
Your guns, weapons of mass destruction
Leave nothing but
Rubble in their wake.
If the way to a mans heart
Is through his stomach …
I’ve got a few skills to show you
I’m so stressed I could cry.
Sorry for the lack of effort.
But I did cook by throwing random ingredients into curry sauce (and seasonings).
It turned out better than I expected.
And I’m counting this as a picture post.
Two birds, one stone (or something like that).
I stumbled over the core of my being
Face first I dive into pillows of the softest despair,
Broken down with years of fear and tears.
Bind the blankets to my sighing mouth,
Muffle the muted screams which never escape anyhow.
Imagine the fibers stretching down my throat,
Tying the ducts of lungs, rendering my breath obsolete
Paralyzing my heartbeat.
Stray strings climb through my nose,
Embedding in my brain, shutting down the ultra violet grandiose,
Channeling me to white noise,
Now escaping my vocal chords, commingling with silent sobs.
Vibrations in universal, numerological and runological,
Strive to stir the silent heartbreak within.
Defibrillation for the soul shredded, billowing in the wind
Unable to catch the stray pieces floating away again.
Happy Mother’s Day!
The softly yellowing light from the hall tosses shadows against the wall. It catches the stubble lining your jaw, ever so quickly it flashes in your eyes and reflects from the waves in your hair.
I’m frozen, blanket pulled around my waist and pillow hugged tight in place of where you should be. You stand shyly while your eyes seem to gloss over me. We’re here, only feet away, but there’s a thin veil of reality guarding the way.
You move steadily through my room though your eyes see straight through me. Your smile, perhaps not meant for me, sends waves of anticipation, pure pleasure, cascading down my arms.
I reach for your hands, the seemingly knowing comfort of your arms, my fingers gently stirring the thin mists guarding us from real and fiction. Each ripple in the foggy veil, more violent than the last, sends shocks through time; beginning to distort this moving picture at my bedside. Your eyes of adoration transform to looks of condemnation.
Missiles from a past long forgotten explode at my feet, stirring runaway memories. Noxious fumes and pretty perfumes take hold, guiding my stumbling trip along nightmare lane. Your visage, dark, brooding and all at once silly and loving, is no stranger behind the veil.
Without warning the undulating mist falls away. All at once I find I remember everything.