The Silly Reason

She sifted her fingers through her pocket, the cold coins warming in her hands, making awkward music as she walked down the sidewalk peering into the windows of the old Victorian-style houses. She thought for a moment, what it would be like to run around in the well-kept gardens, traced with bushes short enough to show off the landscape yet keeping it closed, private. She thought about the warmth of the sun, radiating through the canopy of the tall oak trees, bending over the delicately painted relics dangerously, like old men leaning on their canes; their bones cracking under the breath of the wind.

It was raining, so she hid underneath her hood and wrapped the scarf around her nose, breathing in and out, the moisture from her mouth collecting in microscopic beads on the cloth. She was half-way to class, but had not completely convinced herself to attend. She was becoming wet from the rain and the coffee shop on the corner emanated a warmth welcome to any cold stranger walking along the street. Come in, have some tea, it said simply.

She laid down a dollar and two quarters by the register as the young man behind the counter, his beard hovering above the steam from the freshly brewed coffee, prepared her cup; she wondered what it smelled like. She thought about a woman nuzzling his face at night, her nose receiving the smell of warm, buttery coffee as she fell gently to sleep. Perhaps the aroma was enough to ignore the acne scarred face beneath it; the enticing scent of a french roast mingled with a whiff of faint vanilla. People fell in love for weird reasons.

Whenever she skipped class she thought about the lesson she was missing; what were they talking about? Was it noticeable that she was gone? Did they think she was sleeping and not fully awake, experiencing the earlier hours of her morning exploring directionless thoughts on the bearded barista? She hoped they didn't find her useless or dumb.

She noticed her pocket no longer jingled; it was a silent hole with a silent, sweaty hand coiled inside it, sleeping like a rabbit. Sipping her coffee, she held her face above the steam, letting it cling to her; the moisture warm and suddenly cool. Perhaps she too could be loved, perhaps she too just needed to offer a silly reason.

The Unhappy Woman

Her eyes focused on a hair as it floated before the stagnant air beneath her nose. She didn't so much as sigh, in case the hair would begin to billow and plummet to the carpeted floor like a rogue atom bomb, disappearing from her sight. Her hand hunted for it gently, caressing the air in an effort to leave the hair undisturbed in it's invisible floating sanctuary. Landing blissfully on her finger and caving into the fleshy pillar, she squealed. It was soft and airy, like an angel's hair but unclean; this hair belonged to a breathing animal of completely mammalian nature, completely feline in nature. Griswold stood at the stairs peeping like a an owl from a dark corner, wondering what the fuss was about.
Nadine looked Griswold in the eyes as she placed her hand into a plastic bag, letting the hair roll gently from her finger and into some old bean curd she had just thrown away. It no longer looked like angel's hair and became something vomitous, unclean as it truly was; the way it was meant to be seen.
"That will be enough of that, Griswold," she spoke to the cat, now cleaning it's paws. She heard the cat's saliva flicking between its stretched toes. The bristles of its tongue penetrating and working diligently. She removed herself from the room, envisioning behind her eyes a hawk, swooping through the living room and snatching the creature away from her sight.

The Institution

the dust settles beneath the flames
billowing from the clutter
of the iron structures.

an industrial cage
the bars penetrating the sky
as the coals scream
dying, the history agonizes
and hisses into submission.

the smoke cluttering my lungs
as I stand there
watching it burn,
its violent end
reflecting in my eyes.

The Hunger

I do not wear the ugliness on my face.
The creature I am beneath,
the separate entity that knows me.
It grows inside the womb of my heart
unresting, feeding
replenishing its lust for blood
through my veins.
Curling its fingers around the bars of my ribs
pounding against the walls louder than my pulse,
jagged teeth grinding through the muscle
invisibly tearing me from the inside out.
Feed it, it's always hungry
before it consumes me.