Tag Archives: fiction


Her front yard was always scattered with blossoms from the neighbors tree. They often offered to rake them up for her, but she always declined. It was like seeing a sea of white and pink, she told me. It was like being in a dream.

Her eyes were always lidded and I think that was her way of living in a half-dream state. The real world was never really her friend. I’m not sure if I really ever was, either.

I remember driving up to the vast white yard, her front door wide open. I found her sleeping in the filed of blossoms; she had been laid out like an angel. I got her back inside but she never seemed to wake up. She was half-asleep. Like always.

It was surprise, of course, but somehow not very surprising at all. She looked just like she always did, like a sleeping angel on the ground, surrounded by her white flower petals. I could feel my chest constrict when I saw her as though I knew before I even touched her. Before I saw the blue tint to her lips, or how her skin was pale, so pale.

The tears took a while to come. So did any emotion, really.

The ambulance was silent when it rolled to a stop. The whole day was like a silent film. I wanted to change the channel but I couldn’t. I stayed seated by the snow angel of blossoms when people entered and exited the house.

They said they had found an empty pill bottle.

I just wish she would wake up. I’ve always been waiting for her to wake up.

Wake up, I pleaded in my head.

Please, wake up.


Little Secrets


His legs hang over the side of the railing and his eyes stare straight ahead. Between his fingers is burning death and he takes every drag slow and meticulously, willing it’s magic to work faster.

Bright lights shine from down below and he contemplates his options. Guiltless chance or a surefire suicide. Maybe it could look like an accident.

Smoke gushes from between parted lips and he’s grown to like the taste.

He wonders how many flowers have grown in his graveyard chest but thinks maybe he’s barren. It feels like he’s barren. It feels like all he is, is death waiting to happen. Eyelids shut tightly and he wonders why it has yet to happen.

One foot slips behind the other and a shoe dangles precariously above the rushing traffic. He thinks of this as picking petals off of roses; to, or to not.

Instead of letting chance make it’s mind up, he takes both shoes off and lays them beside him. Knowing they’re safely next to him gives him a false comfort and an unsettling ache.

His mind wanders into the crevices of his thoughts that he blocks off in the daylight, the caution tape torn off. There are dark bags beneath his eyes and he can barely remember the last time he slept. The ache never wanes and the tired never gets comforted by sleep.

Burned to the end, he flicks his cigarette to the ground and slowly, so slowly, he lets himself rise to the challenge of not actually jumping when he can. Instead he turns and grabs his shoes, stepping down from the metal railing and letting himself enter into a more sturdy ground.


Not tonight, he thinks.


Never tonight.


We tear our skin off so that our souls are bare and when they touch it feels electric. I feel the pulse of my heart and I wonder if you feel it too; I swear it takes up the whole room.

Your hands are on me and I try my damnedest not to think of him. My eyes fight to stay locked onto yours so I don’t lose myself in dreams of the past I can’t seem to shake off. I don’t think you see it that way.

You tell me things so sweet it make my eyes water and I try so hard not to hear his voice. I know I can’t say them back. I know you know it, too.


I haven’t been able to understand why you accept so little.


We dance like lovers do and I breathe you in to the best of my ability. In, out. In a little deeper. Hold. Exhale. I pray this silent wish is granted.

Side by side we lay, our limbs intertwined and mixed like they were meant to be that way. We look like an art piece and I think it looks a little sad. I wonder if you see it, too. But I don’t ask.

I could never pry my lips open wide enough to make anything in my mind a reality. I ignore the beat of my heart and try to get lost in yours.

I sink into you and I’m so glad you pull me closer. I empty my lungs in a desperate attempt to let myself be pulled so far in I melt into your skin, into your bones, into your life. I want to let you breathe for me because I can only seem to find toxicity every time I open my mouth.

When your eyes close and your breathing evens out, I whisper my love for you until my throat runs dry. Maybe if I say it enough it’ll find it’s way into reality. Maybe if I wish hard enough, it’ll come true.


I love you I love you I love you.

Something’s Wrong

With all the missing children, who would care about another no-face gone off?

Wheat hair, freckle-faced, and copper eyes. She wasn’t even the starlight girl she dreamed of. Her hands twist the wrinkled, old purse strap hanging on her shoulder. It used to be her mothers. She found a pile of old purses in the back of a closet and liked this one the best. It was much more wrinkled now than it had been, though. 

Her steps were slow and steady. She let her mind drift off to her daydreams per usual. In her daydreams, she was taller, prettier. She had midnight silk hair and striking eyes always covered by big sunglasses that covered half of her face. She didn’t have one mark on her face and she knew she was beautiful.
Instead of being here, walking on this dirt road that led to nowhere, she was click-clacking down the sidewalk of some city with bright lights. She commanded respect and when she smiled, it dazzled. 

The daydreams were a little harder to get to now that she was a little older. She was a teenager now, even though she barely looked it, and the portal to her imagination was smaller and harder to fit through. The bottles on the top of the fridge opened it wider, but she had to be careful. What would her parents think? 

Gorgeous Marie wouldn’t have to worry about what anyone thought. The cool gaze of her eyes was enough to let people know she knew what she was doing. She would be able to take a pretty crystal glass and fill it with whatever she wanted, and no one would question her. Marie didn’t have to sneak drinks from a bottle. 

Marie didn’t think about going missing. She didn’t think about disappearing forever when she got a little too lonely. Mostly because she didn’t get too lonely. 

Reality always hits eventually, though. 

Out of her stupor and the lights are gone. There are no friends surrounding her, no laughter bouncing off the walls of her room. Her head is buried in her hands and she is folded on the floor and her hair is not the perfect shade of midnight. 

She is who she is and so she writes ‘missing’ on her arms. 

Because this is not really who she is.


I pray for forgiveness at the heart of the body I don’t belong in
The words don’t feel right and they don’t sound like me
But that’s probably because I was never the type to apologize
Still his arms find their way around me and his voice is in my hair
If I shut my eyes tightly, I can pretend I’m someone who deserves it,
I can pretend I didn’t show him the wreck of him I just made
And act like it wasn’t my fault, like I can’t believe that even happened
His words are meant to soothe but it pricks at my skin like thorns;
Even in this softness that is him, it still feels like sandpaper
My fingers grip onto his shirt and my eyes hurt and my bones ache
I can never tell if he is the source of this pain or it’s just me,
But it could never be him because he is the only thing beautiful I have
And my eyes need to rest on him after having so much ugliness
Love was supposed to be beautiful, it was supposed to be lightening
Yet it slithers in my blood and turns me into something ugly and it hurts
Because he is so beautiful and I am nothing but bad for him
So in this place where he loves me, I will destroy all that he is
It’s all that I’ve ever been capable of and even in my desire,
The only beauty I will ever create will be the destruction of this love

the things we say, the things we don’t

Sometimes when she crawls into bed next to him, she’ll still pretend it’s you. His shallow breaths, the heat from his body – all of it.
Her head will rest in between his shoulder blades and remember what you felt like.
She knows this isn’t right, and he deserves so much more. She knows her insides are green and only getting darker each time she whispers your name instead of his in the middle of the night.
She hopes one of the times your name gets called out, he’ll notice. One of the times your name gets called out, she hopes he’ll leave her for it. Her weakness swims in her belly and eats her from the inside; she calls it Selfishness.
Sometimes she wishes she could scream it all out. Every single sin she feels, every single dishonesty she commits, every time her eyes close and all she sees is you. Sometimes she wishes she could scream all of that away.
But her throat dries up and her tongue swells. So she hides it behind her smile and averted eyes. And she shows it, just for a moment, in every whisper that echoes in the darkness.
Somehow, he never hears her.
So she still pretends it’s you.

The closer we get

She cradles her heart to her chest like a sick infant. In ways, I suppose it is.
It needs attention, and healing. Yet every time I try to put my love in it, she pulls it closer and turns her back with a whispered apology.
The apology always sounds sincere.
I don’t see her often, just time to time with months in between. Last I saw, she had it tied to a string attached to her wrist. It looked better, but she had it close, very close. I tired to sweep my hand across it, again she pulled it away with a bashful smile.
The smile was a lie. It hurt to see.
Every so often we exchange phone calls or letters, sometimes. I could hear her heart making noises in the background. It sounded like crying and I could tell she was tired from it. I told her to let it cry itself to sleep – I don’t know if she did.
A few days later I wrote her a letter. I hope things are better, not so loud, I wrote. She responded back, her hearts messy ink smudged on the pages. It had finally stopped crying, but now it was restless. She couldn’t get it to sit still in her chest.
Let me watch it, I suggested in the next phone call. It might appreciate some time away. She didn’t outright say no. But I knew she meant no.
I watched from afar, her and her tethered, scratched heart. Held so close, so tightly, and it was always getting sick. Always missing, wanting, lonely. All she wanted to do was protect it, but that was hurting it. It was smaller the next time I saw it. I could see the bags under her eyes and forced smile. She knew, too.
She cried when she slowly passed it over. Any help she could get, she wanted. Her heart was tired and weak and almost empty. It felt like a feather in my hands, but as fragile as glass. I held it gingerly in my arms and whispered my love to it. I tucked it in at night, and read it to sleep.
Her eyes regained their life and the bags beneath them lessened. Her heart was getting better, slowly, but still improving.
The last time I kissed it, I kissed her lips and felt her fold into me. I felt her heart pound in her chest to get to mine.
So I let it.