Eight Ball Corner Pocket
A cackled laugh echoing in the hallway, her shoe slipped off while running. Her friend dared her to run after, chasing dreams hung in sunbeams outside these office walls. She conceded racing for the doors until the shoe went furling into the air, bouncing off the marble walls like a cue ball ricocheting off the edges of a pool table; she hits the corner pocket – that gapping mouth of the garbage can.
Bus Stop Suicide
Overheard conversations aren’t always fun as she sits next to me expressing pain so deep she actually threatens to cut herself to the anonymous someone on the other side. If that someone left, she’d be so lost she might kill herself. My mind winces, swallowing back anger for letting her chaotic sh!t spew out beside me. I just wanted to skip out on my professional duties and become Ann Landers on her a$$, telling her that not loving yourself isn’t the best selling point to get others to love her.
The early morning air is crisp with the smell of Hyacinth’s somewhere growing. Nostalgia hits me like waves of nausea, my noise fills with the scent of you. Remembering sunsets flushing the sky beautiful while we planned our futures, separate but always together. Youth’s love is always the hardest as I turn the corner of time long since grown into someone else and here I am struck sick by the thought of you.
Bus Stop Lovers
He takes his hand and puts it on her back rubbing the bump where her wings could have grown. He whispers sweet somethings into her ear and she smiles back. Two foreheads tilt together as they wrap themselves into each other. I imagine they are lovers who decided to keep going.