I can no longer hold him at bay,

My old opponent.

My strength is gone.

Sapped.

Drained.

Knackered.

I am exhausted.

Too long have I

Plotted

And

Schemed.

But he knew.

He knew time

Was on

His side.

He knew

Eventually

I'd grow weary

Of

The fight.

So

I lay down my arms

And openly embrace

My old opponent.

Death.

If I had a Pony

If I had a pony

I'd let you ride him.

We could feed him

Carrots

And oats

And little cubes of

Sugar.

And maybe an

Apple.

A sweet Gala,

Not a tart

Granny Smith.

We could ride

To a field

Awash with flowers,

And I could let down

My hair.

Literally and figuratively.

Allowing myself to be

Vulnerable.

Just for a minute,

While you gaze into my eyes,

And whisper,

"I love your work".

But the truth is,

Your assistant

Thinks I'm a

Drama Queen.

"We don't expect you to sell your soul

In order to participate in this workshop".

Well,

FUCK YOU BITCH.

I'm not inclined

To accept

Your condescending attitude

Towards me

Or

My writing.

So the next time,

A writer

Must pass,

On one of your

Writing Workshops,

Instruct your

Assistant

To reply,

"Sorry you can't participate".

Because if you

Think

You are

Ernest

or

Buke

or

Even

Jack.

You're not.

Your perception

Of your skills

Are a figment

Of

Your

Miniscule

Imagination.

Satisfacton, Guaranteed

"Go on cher, drink it up. It'll cure what ails ya."

She looked at the bright red liquid as it glistened in the bottle, tiny bubbles bumping into each other like seltzer. Sometimes she thought the bubbles looked like tiny skulls, bare teeth grinning at her. Mocking her. Mocking her fears. She took the bottle out of his hands, the leaden glass weighing heavy in her heart. She cast a suspicious look at him.

"And this'll work. This'll make him love me forever?"

He smiled an evil, cynical smile; all teeth, no lips, like the tiny bubbles within.

"Sure nuf, sis. Drink this and he'll cherish you forever."

He grabbed the bottle out of her hands, holding it just out of reach.

"For the right price, that is."

She reached into her bra and pulled out the wade of slightly damp bills, counting them out, one hundred, two hundred, three hundred. A lot of nights on her knees to get that sum, but it would be worth it. It would be worth it. To have his love forever.

He smiled again, and handed her the bottle. She pulled out the cork stopper with her teeth, grimacing slightly at the smell. Metallic. Rotting. She swallowed the bottle's contents in one gulp, coughing and sputtering as the liquid burned a path down her throat and into her stomach. Waves of nausea washed over her as she fell to her knees, a cold sweat began to pour from her brow. Her breath grew rapid and shallow, as her eye sight began to darken. Her eyes searched his with a desperate plea.

"But, I don't understand. I feel like I'm dying. Feel like I've been poisoned."

She looked at him as tears welled in her eyes. She only had strength for one last word.

"Why?"

That sick, evil smile reappeared on his face as he patted the top of her head. He crouched down next to her.

"Silly girl, don't you know? There's only one guarantee to make someone love you forever."

He held her face in his hands as he kissed her gently on the lips, whispering seductively in her ear.

"Death."

Fashion Week

Angry and bitter are the new black.

Ta Da!!!

The latest issue of Erotica Quarterly from Pill Hill Press. My flash piece, The Ape and I, is featured (and you can't see it, but my name is printed on the cover).

I like the cover; it has Fosse-esque quality to it.

2977

Time heals

All wounds

Or does

It wound

All heels?

Slowly causing

Joy

And

Faith

And

Trust

To erode

From our hearts?

Hearts

That

Will never

Be practical

Until

They are

Made

Unbreakable.

So

The

Great

And

Powerful

Oz warns.


Two Thousand

Nine Hundred

Seventy

Seven

Hopes

And

Dreams

And

Desires

And

Ordinary

Lives.

Extinguished.

On

A

Late summer's day

So beautiful

It would make

You say,

I hope

I remember

This day.

Forever.

And

Ever.

And

Ever.


We will

Remember

This day.

Forever.

And

Ever.

And

Ever.

And as long

As we

Remember,

Two Thousand

Nine Hundred

Seventy

Seven,

Hopes

And

Dreams

And

Desires

And

Ordinary

Lives,

Two Thousand

Nine Hundred

Seventy

Seven

Hopes

And

Dreams

And

Desires

And

Ordinary

Lives

Will

Live on.

Forever.

And

Ever.

And

Ever.

Nice Cup of Tea, Dear?

The dulcet sounds of the adagio sostenuto from Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata wafted through the air. She opened the box from the bakery and pulled out a lemon cake with a blueberry swirl inside, frosted with a light sugar glaze, and placed in on the cake stand. Cutting a thin slice she deftly put it on a delicate, china plate and placed it ever so gently in front of him, as the kettle began to whistle. She returned to the kitchen, removing the pot from the stove top. Steam rose as she poured the water inside, the tea infuser sinking deep into the boiling liquid. She brought the pot to the table, waiting several minutes until the brew was nice and dark. She looked over at him sitting opposite her. She smiled shyly at him.

"Tea, dear?"

He mumbled something, his head lolling forward. Drops of blood dripped onto his naked chest. She saw his hands stretch against the ropes that bound him to the chair. She frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry dear, I didn't quite hear you. Would you like a nice cuppa?"

Incoherent words tumbled out of his mouth as more blood began to spittle across his cut and broken lips. He tried to raise his head, tried to open his bruised and puffy eyes to focus on her. He managed to hold his head up for ten seconds as one word escaped.

"Why?"

She huffed quietly and poured herself a cup, dropping two lumps of sugar in. Tears began to well in her eyes, and she took a sip to steady her nerves. It was still too hot and burned the tip of her tongue. She dropped the cup onto its saucer; tea spilled on her fine, white damask table cloth.

"God damn it, Alex! Look what you've made me do!"

She tried to blot out the stain with her napkin, but the strong, dark liquid began to penetrate the fragile weave. Her tears increased as her frustration grew, until finally she was sobbing, rubbing the soiled fabric until it ripped. An agonizing wail left her body; she pulled the cloth off the table, china breaking as it hit the floor, cake smashing into crumbs, and began to drag it towards the sink. Cold water filled the basin as she began to drown her grief. Water began to overflow onto the floor as she turned back towards the dining room, a cleaver in her hand.

"God damn you, Alex, look what you've made me do!"