i sit on the bench in the park and it's beautiful but i'm scared of the bugs. i see people walking by and some of them smile back in that genuine, crinkly-eyed way. the bugs flit eerily too close and then away again, giving just enough peace to induce comfort so that they can invade it soon after. the people make cute comments about the weather and about my flowery dress, but the bugs don't care. the bugs are attracted to beauty, but they don't know how to approach it.

we can ruin beauty when we don't try to understand it.

i swat and flail to inform them of my displeasure, but bugs have no concept of personal boundaries. they have freedom of buzz, they say, and if i don't like it i can stay inside.

just because we have the freedom to do something, does that mean we ought to?

the bugs make their ugliness known as they squeal in their insectival way. straightening my dress as i stand up, i surrender the bench to the flying vermin. they are blessed with flight, but choose to use it for malicious purposes.

repulsiveness comes not from the exterior, but rather from the corruption of the soul. 

on the phone, he sounded crazy.

the sentences strung out endlessly and the meanings changed constantly. a great pain indeed to see someone you once loved dissolve into a toxic substance that you can't handle. he incoherently tried to manipulate me and it was sad, so sad that even in this stupor he wouldn't give it up.

i said goodbye and told him to get help. i remember the good memories and i try not to taint them with the madness that lurked beneath them all along.

september 8th
i turn the cold doorknob and enter the warm room, flooded with light. through the big window, i can see his back as he rests his elbows on the balcony, leaning on the railing. he blows smoke over the city and doesn't hear me come in until his dog gallops and joyfully groans toward me.

oh, this is my favourite part.

he turns around and i feel the sunlight flow into my heart. he flicks his cigarette over the railing and walks toward me with a slight smile, his eyes filled with tender recognition.

fade to black.

1 month later.
i'm sobbing and shaking, clutching myself in grief because of what's been done. he stands over me explaining that sometimes we need to suffer alone.

fade to black.

and we're back to the present.
i am filled with peace. there is good in the world and there is good in me. 

fade to white.

the mouse looked up sadly at the monkey. with all the monkey's charms came all the monkey's tricks. 

you're the only person i want to talk to sometimes

but the mouse, with its droopy whiskers and weary little paws, walked away. wasn't meant to be anyway. impossible, really. 

so, the monkey can parade around, tree by tree, wailing and howling at the mouse as it walks away. but how many times does the mouse need to be dropped out of a tree to understand that monkeys don't really care about mice?

i cough up alliteration along with my anxiety 

i don't want to step on the worms.

the road is shining black, rippling from the misty drizzle, and there are hundreds of pink, bulging worms of various sizes all over the place like i'm trapped in a disgusting obstacle course.

my stress levels rise because i can't avoid the worms. i can feel their flesh crush under my shoes and it makes me want to vomit. but i can't stop walking or i'll just be a chump standing in the rain with worm guts on the soles of her feet.

so, i walked the two blocks home and stepped on too many worms and felt sick in that existentially meaningless way. i haven't seen my friends in a week because i don't know if i want friends anymore. when i think about going to see them, i feel like i need to walk down that road again and it's impossible to keep from stepping on all the lies.