#92

even the trees surrounding it always assumed a dim and dank persona. the weathered, storm-cloud colored building rose, brick by ominous brick, visible from town, a constant reminder that there were still people who had seen enough of life, seen it in every inherent atrocities.
sometimes a scream would echo, shrill and harsh; maybe a nightmare, or maybe the dreamer was more awake than any of us.
tonight though, the screams blended in a cacophany of dissonant harmony. from their homes, the self-proclaimed "mentally stable" saw blue, red, orange flames running skyward, sprinting up from the ground to the third floor, fourth floor.
inside, locked in rooms, chained to their beds, tied down in their chairs, white robes, cracked nailbeds, unkempt hair. they let out screams, less of fear and more of knowledge.
of course this is how it will end.
this is how it began.

#91

We went walking, heavy trees overhead, you counting every step aloud, me narrating your every move. you looked up and a bird pooped on your head and we ran to the cold stream to wash it off. it is fifteen long steps from the knobby tree with the squirrels to the water. once, we danced at your sister's wedding but we knew she was only happy in public. you stepped on my toes twelve times so we laughed. that night they swelled up two times their size. at the restaurant, our waitress was pretty and you said so. it was only twenty-two regular steps to the public restroom where you kissed her and twenty-two more when you came back smelling of heavy body spray and grease. we walked to the bus stop and forgot to count, but you made three phone calls and gave me zero kisses when i left. with the density of trees over our heads again, i spoke the words "i hate you" right out into the air and i layed on the grass next to the stream. you walked fifteen long steps to the knobby tree, then many, many more back to the car. there were no more steps left for me.

#90

i'm off to the military, mom. i know you always tried to keep me from it, always tried to keep me on the path to being a doctor, a banker, a good job. the suit i'll be wearing to work isn't exactly what you had in mind. i know that.
but with all the stupid things i've done in my life (yeah, i admit it. you knew better all along- too bad nobody realizes that till its too late), there's one thing you know about me. if i start it, there's no way i'm not gonna finish it.
so this is the path i'm starting. and who knows? maybe i'll develop some kind of Onoda complex and be completely balls-out crazy, and my country will give me a medal instead of therapy.
that's probably what i always needed. i'm gonna go and get a different kind of therapy.
and by the way, if i don't make you proud, or i make headlines in a bad way, you should tell dad that, well... you know. i just think that if i can do right by him, i will. but if i'm a disgrace, he shouldn't have to take any blame.
i cleaned out my room just in case. but i left anything joey might want. you'll only hear from me if i make any headlines. i love you mom.

#89

tell me to stay home with you. our covers are still warm as i tiptoe out of bed in the mornings. glancing back, you peek out from under the green quilt your sister made, peek out from under your lashes, your gaze washing all over me. i smile, out the corner of my mouth. you mentioned once how you love that, and now it's become habit; i'll do anything you love.
please. it says. please ask me to stay. tell me to call in. tell me how you need me, how you'll give up the whole world today just to keep me here and leave all wordly essentials laying on the floor beside the bed.
you never ask. but i will keep waiting. i am always on call to stay here with you.