Damn Thou Louse.

Thee louse who annoyith me to no end.

Thee louse who persistith.

Thee louse who taketh so much.

Damn thee, louse.

Not a normal day foreith me.

Not a single friend foreith me.

Not a happy moment foreith me.

Damn thee, louse.

Help me, not.

Assist me, not.

Taketh; do.

Damn thee, louse.

There be-ith but one louse;

not 'lice'.

Not 'them'.

Not 'some'.

Damn thou, louse.

The Fading Collection.

"Le Pull."
December 15, 2009.

A union.
A union of love.
The unbreakable bond.
The mortar to life's bricks.
The greatest thing on could ever have,
while also the most disappointing.

When love is broken,
the sweater, the weave,
is all undone.
One tug
on one thread
destroys the entire piece.
The piece that has been woven
by time, by experience.

Although nothing is the same,
although nothing seems right,
the threads still exist.
They can be woven
to make something wonderful
again.
Not the same, though.
Different.
A different pattern.
A new design.
A stronger weave.

....shall we begin?


"An Evening With Loneliness."
October 6, 2009.

The hum of a refrigerator,
the tick of a clock,
are the ambiance,
the setting's sound.
A large house
keeps the rain out,
yet the loneliness in.

A warm study,
a cold mind.
Cold couches,
cold chairs,
save one.

He sits there,
holding nothing but a note:

"Goodbye, Friend."

All his eggs,
having been in one basket,
have been broken.
All ties have been severed.
Only him remains,
for himself,
for his sanity.
She can move on;
she has others.
But she was his world.
The only basket
worth his time.

So now,
he sits.
Alone,
without a friend in the world.

With his note,
with his warm chair,
with his cold heart,
he waits.
He wonders.

What's next?