Dinner is ready and the weather is great and I love my job and the kids are just fine and we have a trip planned for summer and isn't that show funny and I'm so grateful for, thankful for, lucky to have...
Hunched over a toilet, two women waiting outside--hoping they might be the chosen one--he remembers homemade dinners and the school play, nose as red as his eyes.
They told him to smile as if it would change his insides. As if his insides weren't the thing that needed to be changed for him to smile.
He's tired, but destruction never sleeps. She leaves him boxes around the room, tiny, neat, empty parcels. The meaning can be found in yesterday's leftovers.
His hunger runs deep and regret is a tightrope; step by step, foot by foot, he moves as though the earth is not gutted beneath him.
They say an apple a day keeps the doctor away and you should never nap too late in the afternoon. He keeps his eyes on these facts, but you've got to be careful with facts--they come awfully close to the truth. And truth is just the gutted earth beneath you.
Eyes open, mind shut; the only thing worse than seeing is believing.
I've met delusion, she has a maternal instinct. She'll wrap you up and lay you down, reminding you life is easier when your eyes are closed.
powerful and true.