happy bandits

and we wrote nice things,
encouraging things,
like, "you are loved" and "tomorrow will be better."

and we put them in mailboxes,
bushes,
on driveways
and on porches.

and that made us feel good.

but between the cinder blocks of walls
and only to ourselves,
we wrote in invisible ink other things,
like, "your mother never loved you" and "i hope you die."

and we put them in mailboxes,
bushes,
on driveways

and on porches.

and that made us feel even better.

Bored

took the side street.

to live on the edge, mostly. you know. the dark, the creepers, the whole no-one's-around-so-this-is-where-they'll-find-your-corpse-in-the-morning kind of side street.

i stood in the shadows and watched some chick try to get high in her piece of shit civic. she kept trying to light her bowl and she kept failing and i moved a little closer. her hair got too close to the flame and she pulled back violently, the flame disappearing, me appearing closer yet. by the time she got it right, she lost it, her inhale halted by a strange sort of shadow spilling across her dashboard which of course was mine, face damn near pressed to her window, i'm talking like straight up twilight-zone-gremlin-nightmare-at-20,000-feet style.
and i don't know why, really. to live on the edge, mostly?

i backed away and turned, leaving her, my hood up and shoulders hunched and she was still screaming. when she rolled down the window i was still walking and she was still screaming, what-the-fucks and you're-a-fucking-creepy-piece-of-shit and i thought about going back and making her kiss the pavement, nice and hard, my knuckles lost in a tangled mess at the base of her neck, her playing tonsil hockey with the sidewalk, but i didn't.


i kept walking.

left the side street, to a main road.


because i'm boring.
 

Growths

rings and circles like cells and bumps, all in one giant petri dish.

what is it? for how long? from whom?

i stare at past MRIs and see the muscles and tissues and instantly want cheap beer, cigarettes, and baby back ribs. extra sauce.

if it's not one thing, it's another.