Look around Jedi. Where are you now? Every bridge I’ve crossed awakened my inner arsonist; halfway across the span I've already said my Irish goodbye and made my peace.
The ashes of the burning bridges have barely settled on the water before I’m crossing the next bridge. No man is an island? Every man is an island.
I've met you before on land. Perhaps our boats can silently list past one another later, as we limply raise our hands in a room temperature salute. As we agonize over month old plans and do our best to cancel politely. As the current forces all things apart, except carry only the things most dear to you, and you forgot to make a rope ladder and the heat from the fire is teaching you what unbearable actually means and the black smoke is making you cry for everything you are about to lose.
The apathy curdles and forms in my stomach like a star made of sour honey. Starchild, most of my feelings entail a fear, a fear of not feeling. Isn’t a daughter’s love and need the warm hearth against the chill of the world? Sometimes I can’t feel it, as the sun blisters my back. It’s stupid, stupid not to feel.
|19 W. 31 St.|
Maybe it's the bitter tasting metallic spark of two negative leads touching. The walls of the husk crumble and touch when the thing propping it up is removed, and the insides touch, then recoil, producing flavor.
Maybe it's all a little too fucking dramatic, really.
The taste makes me retch, yet I mistakenly love the star's jagged edges, believing them to be unique.
*** 18 months later ***
Adventures have been started, allies found, allies lost, foes vanquished, foes made. Lawsuits, unfortunately, are forever. And I’ve managed to hold onto my ability to write florid, inane, bullshit, without saying much of anything.
-Whatever happens to the bully? Where is his story of redemption?
-And still we ask, what's next?