It's almost time.
I think I'm ready.
The dark season is finally here.
The lights are up on the house and my cold memories have pushed their way into my throat.
When the rain beats the orange leaves to the ground I'll sink through the floor.
For now I let it sit.
I let it scratch.
I let it walk and I even let it nestle.
But I won't let it bite.
At least not now.
I acknowledge that a balde to my wrist will not leave a bruise.
Out of curiosity....
Just how much blood will you allow to drip from my hands befre you wake me?
Or would you rather just let me sleep?
It's all up to you because it's never about us.
It never has been and i doubt it ever will be.?.?
Driven by dreams and unexpected reality, I keep myself complacent looking for long stemmed lillies. WTF??
Over broken sidewalks and uprooted trees I love to sleep on well worn train tracks.
But sleep is a guilty pleasure when unaccompanied by dream....
So last night I woke up to the sound of my father's voice calling my name.
It wasn't his "mijo" or his son "nando."
It was the words behind my illegible signature.
My mother was gone, another imaginary kiss goodbye.
She didn't even care to wake me with the hallway light. She skipped my door again.
I guess I'm just a tenant.
Just an exhaled breathe or an undistinguished shadow on the wall.
So my father looked at me with eyes I've never seen.
They pierced and understood what swarms inside of my chest.
As his face turned to horror, my eyes flushed my face with tears.
I tried but my tears weren't enough to cover the scars and ugliness of my face.
I wanted to but I couldn't apologize.
I never meant for anyone to see me for who I truly am.
It's always about "I."
So with my head off the side of the bed I let the tears soak the carpet.
I wonder how big a stain I've left on the wood below??
Anyways, fantasy let me down as I waited for the monsters beneath my bed to reach up and snatch my head.
I guess I do want out... If not today probably tomorrow.
If possible, I'd like to vanish like a thought but if death is the only end, then let it be the end.
I know I'll miss dressing you in stars and having time stop as you walk across the room.
I'll miss looking down to see those deep brown eyes staring back at me.
I'll never read your words, here your laugh or feel you pour yourself into me ever and again.
My mother's hands will no longer fix my plate and my father's face will lose any resemblance of who I was.
I won't be around to see my brother reach his destiend heights or clean the dust off my baseball glove for another season.
It seems unfortnate almost but it's selfish to think someone would mind my religous dissent.
I'd be one less ugly face deflecting sunlight that would otherwise warm your heart.
From beneath the soft glow of this nightstand light and from this once blank page in this tired black book I confess to you.
If i must, I also apologize to you for wasting your time.
These words are for reflection.
You know, I usually write to cauterize but this time I'm thinking about ecchymosis.
So much for a merry Christmas and a happy new year.
Fernando Flores is an ugly gordito disenchanted that he will ever know the overwhelming embrace of love. He adores girls who will never notice or care much for him or for his adoration of their smiles. Any affection accepted at firstname.lastname@example.org