a i see them all wither away like stop motion photography, the setting of the gray, the wilting of skin, the time lapse of bones into dust.
i see this and see this and cannot run away, my precious loves, my mother, my father, my wife, my children, my skin, my eyes, my life, gone, slow-fast, in an instant, an eternal forever, just like that.
time, you fucking animal, why cant you leave us alone.

at some point to return, in lilacs, in dust, in tumbleweeds and tufts of matted fur. how about that, how about lice and lace and mesh and barbed wire and the tongues of children caught on the pointy bits like we were all massacred before someone could care. or perhaps past caring, perhaps we had deserved it all: towers set aflame by the wild desire of middle eastern boys promised haughty virgins and a seat at the right hand of allah, of god, of jehovah, of yahweh.
yes, yes, a return to all that; and your children sleep and dream and whisper if there are tooth fairies even in greece.

kick my teeth in with your love, your rambunctious living, your laughter, your tears. little girl, little boy, you strike me into nothingness, into meat. i am pale and stricken before you: you run me in circles. i believe in you and fear your future. you are everything i could’ve been and never can be

the worst of it all is you now live for others, no longer for yourself: all you could’ve have done, all you could’ve amounted to, is done, in the past, wistful and soon forgotten. there is nothing more for you: you’re merely kindle at this point, for your children’s fire.
if at that.

did you ever think it would get easier? panic abounds. gritted teeth and an excuse to wrestle the pillow. too hot, too cold, too soft, not hard enough, not dead enough, too much alive, too fearful to let go, and time slips, time presses on, time abuses you, time mocks me, molasses the days but lightening quick nights. she will leave you one day. he will look at you with disgust. she will find no way to console you and tire of it herself.
panic abounds, panic abounds, and makes marbles of you.

are there things broken? yes, obviously. never mending. daisies greyed out and lost to harsh winds. that’s silly, empty out the mind, what do you see?
i see a vast acres of nothing, blank slate, stale ground, arid field.
i see weeds and cracked patches of densely packed earth.
i see myself in the middle of it all, wordless, tongueless, handless, immobile and futile.
i see time and growth and death and life without me and it brings me to my knees weeping.
i cannot live forever and cannot get past that simple fact.

started phentermine, completely knocks out my appetite. the first couple of days, i was somewhat giddy, more energetic, doing push ups around the house on the random, etc.
calmer but not sharper. more patient but with a bit more bang when i do get annoyed.
almost didn’t eat.

a life, which life, this one. endlessly. they just don’t get it. like broken windows that whistle for days between hurricanes and thunderstorms. not one and the same. different. the fear has nothing to do with children. there’s is nothing terrifying about a children. no. everything about a child or raising children or loving your children is terrifying and wonderful and painful and tremendous but not fear striking. not terror. this is what he does not understand: it’s real. it’s the realest thing i have ever known. or will know. i know exactly how it will be. one day there, then not. that’s what we’d all like to be believe. in our sleep, in a pseudo womb and we’re gone. but all that is missing the point. the error lies in the time between: the growing old, the hair loss, the decay, the wearing down, the wearing out, the beaten leather and loss of youth. the point of no return.
but it’s stupid: the point of no return is everyday, every hour, every minute, every second: you plow on relentlessly, driven and without respite or cause. you just go because there is no stopping.
“there was a fly in your coffee and i was terrified of waking you
-but you stopped.”
lucky fucking bastard.