Late Night Pieces

When the second boy who falls in love with you tells you not to leave, smile, and shrug your shoulders. Forget that he has a freckle on his lower lip. My stepfather once told me that when he was stationed in Vietnam, he learned that if you crack the rib cage open from below the forearm, you can rip out a still beating heart. I am sorry for what I did but I am not sorry for telling you that science fiction is a dying genre when it comes to literature, and that maybe I’m too much of an existentialist to just feel anymore; fantasy hurt too much because I have lived my entire life building up this wall believing that people did not intend on living in the sockets of your eyes and conducting an entire orchestra to irritate your lacrimal glands long enough to create an entire flood that engulfed all of western Nevada. I once spent four hours in my grandmother’s bathtub, crying because I remembered that my late aunt had also bathed here. I cried not because I was frightened, but because humans so often reuse and touch the surface of things where others had once brushed. So when your wife starts crying because her father’s antique dresser’s door hinge is falling apart, shut the door and make her alphabet soup and pretend that words of consoling are hidden within the substance. Similar to how you told your ex girlfriend that things are okay and that you would always care but you never picked up the phone to tell her it would be alright and it’s September already and she still thinks about your eyes and how they’d always crinkle up but you left her for a woman who just cries about how things fall apart and you think it’s ridiculous but you don’t even know how to fix things in the first place. She died last November and you constantly lie every morning you see the plaster on the trailer ceiling that she was never ethereal. You vex the neighbors because of how quickly you move from woman to woman. But it is obvious that you are drawn to those afflicted with living time bombs within their wombs. When your uncle tells you that you are wrong for your sexual preference, tell him he is wrong for cheating on the same woman fourteen times in the span of two weeks and leave like the day he left your sixth dance rehearsal when you admitted to being gay because your attraction to women determines how detrimental and self destructive you will be towards the mold of your family.  The waitress who works at the obscure diner two blocks down from your brother’s apartment has been dying for you to take her out to eat and she doesn’t give a damn if it’s in the place where she’s been working for five years trying desperately to pay off her student loan even if it takes bending over her boss’s desk just to receive extra pay because all she’s ever known is being enough. When the third boy tells you he’s in love with you, you will have already up and left before he asks why you smell like another man’s cologne. You once told me that ferns were you favorite plants, and that they were most similar to the way your heart was structured - poorly, and indubitably aged. Yesterday I read an article about how species of ferns are edible. I left you on a tuesday when the boy who rode his bicycle had a flat tire and I offered to give him a ride and he offered to kiss me and said he had been infatuated with me for thirteen years and twenty-eight days. When the clock in your bedroom stops working, wind it back to the last time you recall you had something important occur, and proceed to wake up at that time everyday, no matter if your boss questions your late arrival. Tell him that you are certain his heart is blackened from seeing the grey of filing cabinets and the upside of black pencil skirts from his coworkers. When you leave the fourth boy who tells you that he loves you, inform him that there are over 10,000 species of ferns residing in the world.  

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

After reading...the story line just goes like a collage of events...
trickling down from one to the next...
all corresponding from one event to another...
and relatively ending just as this started...

[nihilistictablelamp]

Well, yes, that's the intention. They're thoughts, relatively nonsense.

[Glen Yumang Manese]

I'd just break this down into paragraphs...unless you're intention as you say...give that effect...write on...