Summer StormIt wasnt sudden; it was calculated. We circled each other for months, waiting for the right moment to attack. Sharpening our claws. Looking for weaknesses. Finding none.More Like This
The first bolt of lightning. Our lips met. Electricity. Charged, we fought.
The low rumble of thunder. Your skin melted into mine like a poison. The primal drumbeats of the rain on the roof, driving us onward. Beads of moisture. We glowed from within, we darkened the sky.
The wind ripped the breath from my mouth. The wind, your lips. Both.
The ocean, frothing and churning. Ships crushed to splinters upon our shores. Lines of fire from my nails, your tongue. Static. We crackled, we blazed.
Burning into each other, we were a summer storm.
Seven YearsWheres Daddy going?More Like This
Quiet. Mommys busy. The harsh rake of a metal zipper closing. The girl carefully lays her bear on the bed covers, then picks him up again.
When will he be back?
When hes finished.
Finished doing what hes doing.
What is he doing? Her mother pulls the curtains, shutting out the dull, feeble light of the muted sun.
So many damn questions. The squeak of the springs as she lifts the heavy suitcase off of the sagging mattress.
Will he be back for my birthday? The timid voice questions.
No? But he said he would get me a bike, a blue one, we saw it in the window and he said I could have it for my birthd-
No. He wont be back for your birthday.
Im getting old, arent I mommy? she asks proudly.
Old? Hell, youre only six. A raspy laugh, a smoker
There's a Body on my TablePaul unlocked, locked, unlocked, locked, unlocked, locked and unlocked the door before pushing it open. He took off his shoes, left one first, and laid them by the door in perfect parallel to each other.More Like This
Im home, he called, and from the top of the stairs the fish in his aquarium burbled in response. He counted his steps to the kitchen one, two, three...fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. He lined up his feet and looked at the digital clock on the microwave - 6:04. He waited patiently, watching, until ah, 6:05. Letting out the breath hed been holding, he turned to the kitchen table and-
Oh, God. Paul was suddenly acutely aware of his pounding heartbeat in his ears. He somehow managed to steady himself against the chair back and remain upright, but he knew he would faint if he couldnt get himself under control. And he couldnt faint. That wasnt in the Routine.
He steeled himself and looked at the table again.
A dead fly on his kitche
ClockworkWe started like clockwork.More Like This
We met and everything fell into place. Being in your arms was so easy, and I fit so neatly into the curve of your body. Our lips were magnetic. We disgusted friends and family with the violence of our happiness. Everything was paced as though a mathematician had planned our romance: week after week, month after month, the pinpoints of our love fell as neatly as the marks on a timeline. We meshed like the gears in a watch, moving in harmony, driving onward steadily and beautifully, rhythmically. We came together like a smoothly oiled machine.
We were perfect.
I think perhaps it was that immediate perfection that doomed us. For how long can two people last, so ardently in love? We burnt ourselves out, and by the time wed cemented that perfection into the most immovable of rapports, we had trapped ourselves in it.
We ended like clockwork.
There was a time for us to be together, and a time to be apart. That time came as evenly and as predictably as
Hate Me... Please~~Hate Me... Please~~More Like This
I want to scream at you
Even though you didn't do anything
I want to sew your lips together
when you happily smile at me
I want to kick you down
After you've picked me up
I want to shut your eyes forever
So I don't have to see them glint with hope
I want to make you cry
When you dry up all my tears
I want to tell you that I hate you... but I can't
Because you love me and you would die if I left
So the thing I want most in the world
Is for you to hate me
Maybe then I wouldn't feel so bad