“You know, it's funny... when you look at someone through rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags.” -Wanda

I was rotten the whole time,

but all you saw was the side of me

with soft skin. I don’t know God,

just sin, but I stopped caring about heaven

and hell when I realized I don’t want

to end up in either. I wish I fell

further from my father’s tree.

Trust me, I know I’m bad.

I know I’m skunk-smell,

pea-soup, plastic-bag,

well-bottom, under-rock rat’s-home.

I just thought you’d known.

Hemingway said to write drunk,

And edit sober.

I’ve decided to partake in the former.

You see, for me, editing reduces my authenticity.

Human beings, as intelligent as we pretend to be,

Mistake our mistakes for misguided attempts at good intentions,

And my intentions are anything but,

So I will not edit.

I will not let a spelling error determine the price of my thoughts,

Now hush.

Listen to the walls,

Hear me whisper through the hiss in your vents,

Hear me vent through the thoughts you tried to drown out last weekend,

At the club, or the bar, or at home with a bottle of liquor.

Let me bring them back,

Until you can’t bear to breathe,

Until you’d kill a man for silence,

And silence a heartbeat for a moment of peace.

This is when I’ll hire you,

In exchange for hiding the truth,

Because blackmail comes in all forms,

And I just happen to know true torture.

It lies in the moments when you sit on your couch, thinking about the tasks you can’t complete,

And you feel you can’t compete,

In a world that won’t stop fucking moving.

It rests in your attempts to keep up,

As you jump hurdles, and fall face up,

Because you know that really you’re just a fuck up.

And you’ll continue to be,

Until you let my words invade your eardrums,

And you watch my thoughts escape me,

And creep across the barren fields of your existence.

Don’t worry, darling, I’ll give you purpose.

It’ll only cost you everything.

a birthday cake that eats

you with the memories of old friends,

a new lover who holds you like

an undertow when you’re sleeping,

a dream that quotes his promises

only in the language of rain

a moon that hangs outside

your window like a peeping

tom, a secret meant to be born,

developing like a fetus

in your heart, air

so pregnant

with loneliness

that it crams mountains

into your lungs. pressure

that can be vanished only

by confronting yourself

hesitation that replaces

random bits of your DNA

with a midnight sky, taking

you deeper into that dark place

every time.

The man after eating all the animals

on earth and putting out eruct,

and making them extinct,

is taking initiation to write,

other planets’ organism’s forecast.

*******************

If I could hold your addiction, a tangible darkness, I’d drop it from shaking hands to mouth-watering tongue and swallow it whole. Let it lay heavy in my throat. Too immense to slide down my gullet. I’d take your affliction. Wide-awake, fever dreams and swollen, insomnia eyes would be easier. My insides are more stone than yours. My heart, Medusa-stare hardened. More capable of caging that ache. Instead I wake wet. Not sure if I am drenched in your sweat or your tears. And I fall back to sleep, uneasy. Your words laying heavy. A humid whisper that never leaves. I’m not using. And when you say it. It means you just did. I’m not using. Because I just did. And everything is numb. But it’ll hurt again soon. But I’m not using. Starting tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can sleep in, because I won’t wake up screaming. I won’t wake up sobbing. I won’t wake up shaking. Because I’m not using. I swear I’m not using. And just stay tonight. I swear I’m not using. And the sun is just a little too bright today but I’m not using. I’m just tired. It was just a party. I’m not using. I know it was a hit and run, but if I stopped it’d be a whole, big thing, and I’m not using. And I didn’t mean to leave you at that house but I was in the basement, and I forgot you were waiting, and it was just one time. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be fine. And I’m sorry I stained your shirt again, but the blood will stop soon. I’m not using. And I know that you’re tired, but please, just one more night. Because tomorrow is the day. And tomorrow I won’t be using. I just can’t sleep. And please, just sit with me. Tomorrow. I’m not using. And I’ll pay you back after I turn this money around. I’m not using. And I’m just not happy. And it’s not you I swear. I love you. But could you just give me one night. Because I’m not using. Tomorrow I’m not using. But I’m just not happy tonight. It’s only because of me. It’s not because of you. It’s my dad and my ex and my job. And I just need to turn this money around, wait in the car. I’m not using. Just wait in the car. And I slept a few days ago. Don’t worry. I’m not using. Tonight was the last time. Because I’m not using. I’m not using. I’m not using. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Gimme that tray. Hold my square.

I'm writing to you because I'm not going to your wedding so I'll probably never see you again. I mean, not that you would want to or care to. I'm not typically a skeptical person, but I know an afterthought when I see one. Or when I get a hand drawn wedding invite weeks after being ghosted.

You're probably wondering why I'm being so passive aggressive with you. I wondered that too, but then I asked myself if by the time you read this line, you reread the first paragraph because you proably didn't even detect any traces of affliction in my sloppy handwriting. Did you compare the script in the dozens of letters I wrote before? Do you notice how much deeper the indentation is in this one? There's no heart next to your name. There's no looping curves, or swirls, or little mindless doodles, or micro poems that once garnished my feelings for you.

Do little boys get drunk, Sis? I bet the korean suburbs never sounded so turbulent. But that's your flaw. I languished day after day in my emotions. I marinate in my own misfortune, because I'm society's decrepit, though I once had the potential to become something better.

Is that why you stopped replying after letter 4? When I told you sleeping is the blanket shielding me from my monsters did you look on because I still need a blanket, or because you were too weak to fight them off?

One thing I realized, while you were offline, was that I tend to blame others for my problems or associate my misfortunes or issues with uncontrollable realities. For example I never told you this, but I have a porn addiction. Not just any old used baggage either. My tastes are unique, because while someone on my phone is getting rawed, my head is thrown back and I can't catch my breath either. I'm in sync with the moans, with the thigh slapping, the final, definite orgasm, and then my screen goes black and I'm sticky and disatisfied, because I don't order samplers. I crave the full entree for myself.

So that's what I did. Porn became disgusting to me because it was forced, and I got no real pleasure out of other people's happiness.

I met a girl who when she looked at me I became a bowl of water and she was gonna lap all the fluid I possessed within me. I was going to give her everything I had and not care if she sold it to Goodwill, or mixed it with her own shit in a litterbox. I wanted to squeeze out every ounce of love I had on her face and on her breasts and then paint a future where her and I could forget about the would be lovers and risky messages we sent at odd hours to obscure genders. We would forget about the times we were scammed, the times we were stood up, or thrown down too forcefully, choked, raped.

I loved her those couple days. With every drop of sweat and every fire in my ass I loved her. The cellulite, the freckles, the big nose, everything you weren't. Everything pretty about you I sneered at and craved the opposite. And I loved her so much I didn't give any thought to my own needs. My skin wasn't speckled purple with her lips. My skin wasn't massaged by her fingers, wasn't carressed by her body, save for the moments our thighs or lips kissed. I didn't even come.

She zipped up, packed up, and I didn't even get a handshake good bye.

I realized that some time later while simmered in alcohol.

I realized, that I was a disgusting person, and no one wants to be branded with a rusty iron. No one wants to be associated with a defect, with the inept. You're a woman of God and that's were we came from, according to you. But somewhere in the recesses of your skull I'm a lower life form and you couldn't find a big enough cage for me so you adorted mission.

I was never the pure child you initially thought. I guess you realized that too.

Enjoy your wedding. Sorry I couldn't make it.

Signed,

Yours at one point.

Dani waves his hands over the flames.

“Eh~ Stara?”

A young female with tealy black hair snaps her fingers & the flames from her palms go out.

“Whoa!” Dani exclaims.

The two buddies begin to chuckle. Stara closes her eyes & yawns.

Dani asks the young Subern if she’s signed up for the Grand Magick Academia (G.M.A). Stara nods her head.

Her guardians had been told by Dani’s parents that G.M.A would make sure that Stara was ready to be a more powerful sorcerous. She knew a little about her powers, but still had a lot to discover about them.

“Good night- Stara..”

Dani claps his hands and his body begins to drift away into space. Stara pulled the blanket over her head & let her mind wander.

Ah, Dani was always there for her, even from the beyond of space & time. She couldn’t quite recall if she had summoned him, or he had ended up by her side thanks to her guardians.

**************************************

Dark shadows reach out toward the being resting. A blast of blinding light hits the shadows. They screech and fall back!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dptMwh2xJcU

The Score - Tightrope (Audio)

Sunday 7 July, 2019.

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#STARA.