i feel like such a ..century!

searching for mermaid wings and angel tails
[literally.. on ebay]
but buying such things just isn't the same
as.. well where else would they come from?

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i, for one, only have one frequently asked question,
and it's usually something along the lines of:
what?

i've never made a snow man.

what
is a two syllable name beginning with S?
I need options for a song.

Why would a child cry each night?

Home. Nicotine green,
The walls were obscene.
Pristine; dust, broken boards
And a screaming TV.
The bloodshot eyes of a man gone bad,
An asshole unfit to be a dad.

"Don't ask me how to cry," he said,
Whilst wiping the smut from his eye.

In the next room,
A curtain as a door,
Stella lies, the covers over her head,
Wishing she was dead.
Eyes squeezed tight:
"I'm in the arms of one who loves me,"
Wishing she was right.

A moan of fear from the ball of a girl
As she hears his chair springs shriek.
A smug shadow sliding into the room,
The floor that screams beneath his feet.
Still, as quiet as a man could be.
Please, she trembles, not today;
Come again another day.

She hears him breathe over her bed,
Reaching down with ten thousand fingers
To pull the covers from her head.
Thick and gritty, the voice of mud made man:
Stella... time to play,
Don't make me wait.

The rest is grinding teeth not to scream,
And red with penetration.

"Don't ask me how to cry," she says,
Whilst waving her childhood goodbye.

*

The thing is... I'm just too bored to think of anything but myself.

    "I really don't see how it could take so long to respond," she muttered as she clicked out her email program in agitation. It had been three days since she had written to them about her problem, and still no answer!
    She swiveled on her creaky chair, "well, now what?"
    "Jane, are you talking to yourself again?"
    "Ugh!" She exclaimed, "actually, no. I'm talking to the aliens in my brain. They're digging out a home for themselves and it's getting a bit painful."
    "Yeah, okay. In the meantime, I'm wasting away out here. Where the Hell's my dinner, woman?"
    Jane glared across the room at her supine husband, who peered back at her over the top of his mile-wide novel.
    "It's in the fridge, and there it's gonna stay. I'm not hungry."
    His eyebrows raised in mock indignation, "What kind of wife are you?"
    "A modern one," she retorted as she swiveled the chair to face the computer again. "Aha!"
    "What?" her husband said, "the aliens finally complete their excavations?"
    She ignored him as she opened the email that had just arrived in her Inbox and skimmed the first few lines. "Oh my GOD!"
    "What?!" he asked again, getting up and crossing the room to peer over her shoulder. "Oh! They answered?"
    "Obviously."
    "Well, it's about time; you wrote them days ago. What'd they say?"
    "They said I should go to a brain surgeon and have the aliens removed, 'cause if I let them stay in my brain I'll die in a matter of weeks."
    "You'd better make an appointment then," he replied.

//Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that diddles but man. It will take an entire hen-coop of picked chickens to get over that.// *Edgar Allen Poe

if seeing& hearing& feeling& remembering& believing
things that aren't there is

just feel wrong
i suppose that explains just feel

but why when good things happen?

been rich&dead late ly;
gosh, you'd better not try to make me happy.

but suppose my face were vibrant!

    believe me,
    i overknow i'm not alone.
    so?

i love my husband.