Changing Clothes

I am a man.
I work and worry,
concerned about my family.
I laugh at my child's mistakes,
remembering my own.
I cry in fear of my short days.
Time works against me.

I am a boy.
I play and worry,
concerned about my future.
I laugh at my friend's mistakes,
only to make my own.
I cry in fear of what is unknown.
Time works for me.

I am a monster.
I worry about what should become of me.
I laugh at my love's mistakes,
my love is not wanted.
I cry in fear of what I may do.
Time cannot end my suffering.

Jekyll and Hyde

Music pumped through the house, feeding the party. He sat amongst his classmates, entertaining them with a story. His voice was barely audible, yet no one seemed to care. The story came to a close, and those who had heard the whole thing burst into laughter. Everyone else quickly followed suit. A drunken woman stumbled on top of the table in front of him. She flapped her arms energetically for the music to quiet. The DJ turned down the volume for the hostess.
She proposed a toast, her slurred speech catching everyone's attention. Her body waved as she spoke, and by the time she finished she nearly collapsed off the table. The guests cheered and laughed, raising their glasses in the air for the music to return. Bass returned to shake the walls. The glass in his hand shuddered at its intensity.
The night drew on and the party came to a close. He smiled his goodbye to the hostess. He smiled to his friends as he walked out the door. He smiled the whole way home. At his house he walked, lazily, to the shower. Stripping his clothes off, he turned on the water and entered.
His smile wavered, and fell. Closing his eyes, he stared into the darkness he created. A dull thud sounded when his knees collided with the floor. His hands reached for the wall. Upon contact, they slid down until he was on all fours.
He imagined making the water hotter; turning it to a scalding temperature. It would ripple across his back, carving vascular paths of fire down to his underbelly. From there it would twist down his arms, seeding itself into the ground only to spread its viral roots.
But it didn't. The water remained pleasant. He knew he wouldn't inflict such a pain on himself. He couldn't, for he was too weak. His mind focused on his fear of himself. Of who he was when alone. Another thud as his head connected with the floor. Through his mind's eye he watched as his skull split from the impact. Thick blood curled and spun, mixing with the water and swirling down the drain.
He stood up and shook his head, trying to clear his clouded mind. His hand shook as he turned off the water. Drying himself off, he fell out of the shower, clawing his way to the door. Once out, he drew a deep breath. Time to face the darkness. Time to face himself. Alone.

The Garden

My puppy killed it. It ran through and tore up years of effort in mere minutes. Honestly, if I were to reflect objectively on the matter, the amount of damage was impressive. I couldn't have done a better job if I had salted the earth. Gardens have a tough time growing in salted soil.
In all seriousness, I was angry; furious to a degree I didn't know was in me. When my puppy looked at me with those wide innocent eyes, I felt my blood boil. It is true that I should not have let my little dog roam free, that I am at fault on some level. Although, knowing the destruction could have been indirectly caused by my hand only worsened my mood.
I believe it is challenging for many to imagine just how important my garden was to me. It bore fruit that only existed because I nurtured each plant from seed to maturity. For me, the garden was a year-round project. In the Spring I would plant new seeds, and eagerly fertilize and water them. Summer was a time for me to harvest the fruits of my labor. By the time Fall drifted in, the plants were given a protective layering for the coming cold. Frost and snow did not deter me from venturing out daily on a journey to keep the plants warm.
But now... now it is Spring yet again and I have nothing to look forward to for Summer. My puppy took from me an irreplaceable joy. A garden will never grow on that soil again. That is why I killed my puppy.

A Folk Tale

"Everyone quiet down," the old man said with quiet authority. Around him sat kids from the village. With a long, spindly arm he hoisted a log into the fire in front of him, grunting with the effort. The children's eyes turned to saucers as sparks leapt into the cool night sky. A smile wrinkled his face, "Tonight I tell you a story. A simple story, yet one not easily understood. Some of you will understand it, and some of you will not. All I ask, is for each and every one of you to hold this tale close to your heart, for within it lies a simple truth."
The man cleared his voice and began in a whisper. "One day, at the river of wandering souls, a boy stood by the water's edge. He bent down and picked up a smooth rock, appreciating its texture in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it into the river. The rock shattered the river's surface, making a pleasing splash. Again, the boy took a rock in his hand and threw it into the river. This time, in the moment the stone left his hand, the boy reached out to stop the rock's journey. Unfortunately, he was too late, and the rock sunk into the river. The boy missed the feeling of the stone, so he grabbed yet another. Before he could begin to admire the rock, he became overwhelmed with the want to throw it in the river. Hearing that pleasing splash overtook the boy and he threw the rock again.
He repeated this cycle for days, which turned into months. He grew tired and unsatisfied with the singular splash the rocks made. He wanted more.  It was this desire that made him grab pebbles. The pebbles weren't nearly as smooth and didn't make as large of a splash, but he could throw many at once. The resulting splash was different from the larger stones and were therefore more entertaining... for now.
"As the months grew to a year, even the pebbles lost their luster. The boy became frustrated with the pebbles, he threw handfuls of them angrily into the river. That was when the pebbles ran out. Looking at the empty shore, the boy saw a singular rock remaining. It was smooth and almost identical to the first rock he had thrown. He picked it up, cocked his arm back to toss it, and stopped. An idea hit him. What if he kept the rock? He realized that by keeping the stone he could free himself of the river. The boy smiled and walked away, never to return."
The old man crossed his arms and leaned back. He watched as some of the confused expressions shifted into realization. His work here had come to a close.

Claustrophobia

Turn off the lights,
turn off your mind,
flip the switch on your happy thoughts.
Close your eyes and
try to sleep,
hope to sleep,
before the darkness enters your heart.
Watch it close in,
slowly,
feel its pressure,
slowly
cave in your chest.
Do not panic,
do not struggle,
let it work its twisted magic.
Close your eyes and
try to sleep,
hope to sleep,
before you realize you are
alone.
No one is coming,
no one is running,
to save you from the night.
It is too late for you.
You have been captured.
And tonight,
the dark takes no prisoners.

Masquerade

I put on my mask and enter this place.
Looking, calmly, at my unknown fate.
Smiling, they take me by the hand. Their melodic laughter fills my ears.
I do not know who they are, only the masks selected carefully for my viewing.
Falling head over heels into the deadly dance of the masquerade,
forever falling.
Suddenly, I am alone
with only a few of them left in tow.
Secrets they want me to bestow,
that of which no one else knows.
But behind the mask I hide
from all those prying eyes.
They promise me lies
with smiles so fake.
Their word I refuse to take.
They speak of stories each so different, revealing some of the wearer of the mask.
Asking what secrets I have with a laugh.
For to them I would not have secrets like that.
But I do.
The secrets behind my mask are dark.
Bursting to be released,
yet yearning to remain hidden.
I must protect this mask of mine,
it contains my only alibi.
My secrets of love,
of hate,
of stories untold,
I want,
yet fear
to mistakenly unfold.
Returning from the masquerade,
I remove the mask for another day.
Looking upon my face I see
the outlines of the mask engraved forever deep.
This masquerade I love to play.
This masquerade I can't escape.

The Dream

I awoke with a start. I sat up in the bed, causing sweat to roll lazily down my face. I swiped my hand across my forehead and extricated myself from the tangle of sheets. Nausea swept through me as I stood. My hand went to the nightstand, preventing my body from collapsing like a sack of potatoes. I closed my eyes and focused on the soothing patter of rain hitting the roof.
Once I felt confident enough to take the few shaky steps to the bedroom door, I drew in a deep breath and released the nightstand. My head cleared as I exited into the hallway.
Standing before me was a child. I blinked in confusion, feeling as though I should know who this was, but my mind drew a blank. Kneeling before the stranger in my home, I reached out to console the lost soul. The child burst into tears, grabbing my hand. I watched the watery eyes and felt wet tears land on my hand causing a heat I didn't know was possible. The warmth overtook my whole hand and started to run down my arm. I looked down.
Blood poured from the child's chest, mixing with the tears then continuing its journey down my arm. My gaze jerked back to the child's face when I heard a whimper. In a panic I held the child close to my body and rushed to find a phone. In the kitchen we both wept as I fumbled to dial 911. The phone began to ring. Once. Twice.
I felt the small body shudder against me, one final breath sighing out, touching my soul. The pounding rain drowned out the ringing of the phone. I wept for the child I didn't know. A singular desire to escape this unexpected place of misery swept through me. I raced to the front door only to find I still held the child. Without setting the body down I couldn't open the door. The inexplicable bond I felt to the limp figure in my arms kept me from placing the body on the ground. There was no other choice.
The door shuddered as I pounded my back into it. I grimaced, holding back tears, trying to force my way through the door. Ever so slowly, the door began to groan. I had to get out. My mind felt trapped inside the house. The door began cracking and popping open. Wooden splinters dug like needles into my back trying to keep me inside. The door gave one final crack, causing me to tumble through the shattered doorway. I fell. The limp body tumbled from my arms, landing with a quiet thud inside the house.
Rain continued to patter around me, but I remained   dry, impaled by hundreds of tiny splinters pinning me to the ground. Individually, each splinter caused me little pain, it was the combined effect of hundreds that kept me from standing up. My eyes opened... then closed. This could be the end of me.