Category: Writer

Pacifier in Purgatory

Not a day goes by that I am not reminded of my situation. Not a day goes by that I don’t have regrets about actions or how things went. But I also feel hope about the future. I also feel happiness at times and glimmers of a new life ahead of me. But these feel like speculations in life when I do nothing but try to simply speak my mind for one of the rare occasions in my life and I am met with disheartening distrust and malice. I hate confrontation with people but at the same time my base instinct calls for me to gnaw on the bones of my enemy in search of the delicious marrow in the middle. I am at a cross roads.

I have seen people who have chosen every path here and I still have no idea which is the best for me. I am dying on the inside from swallowing hate and anger. It turns into a septic pill that sloshes around the insides of my soul darkening the edges that I thought I had just cleaned. Old fears sit like boxes in front of the damage. I move them but them they fall back into place like stubborn Tetris pieces. my arms grow weak from scrubbing away the shit. I grow weary.

My Two Sons

This is a sitcom I am currently putting together. Let me know what you think?
My Two Sons
Int. Day. Kitchen
A middle aged black man is sitting with his two teenage adopted white sons at the kitchen table as they are eating pizza. Several pizza boxes are scattered about the tall kitchen table. There are moving boxes all around the counters behind them. The boys are both taller than their father with shaggy sandy hair and even though they are two years apart, they look like twins.
Big Bro: (Standing at kitchen table between Lil Bro and Dad holding a piece of pizza) So, I get the front room right?
Dad: (Straightening out the pizza boxes on the table) Um, no, you are still rooming with your brother.
Lil Bro: (Mumbles incoherently with a mouth full of a breadstick)
Big Bro: Well if that’s happening, he’s got exactly five chances.
Dad: Five chances?
Big Bro: (Looks right at his brother, whose looking up at him) If I catch him masturbating five times, I’m out.
Lil Bro: Hey!
Dad: (laughs) Look, I know he masturbates a lot. But the front room is for lounging.
Lil Bro: (angry) I don’t masturbate a lot!
Big Bro: I have caught you more than once. (Takes a bite of pizza)
Dad: Me too.
Lil Bro: Yeah, well, I have caught you Dad.
Dad: (Leans forward) Well, you barged into my room without knocking. This new place has locks on all the doors. There are two bathrooms. You guys have yours and I have mine. Just don’t waste water. There’s no point, just do what you need to do, we’re in a drought.
Lil Bro: Fine, I am so over this conversation.
Dad: Just worried you might get early onset carpal tunnel or something.
Big Bro: (laughs) Tennis Elbow!
(Dad and Big Bro laughing hard)
Lil Bro: You guys suck.
Big Bro: (Tries to compose himself) Sorry, we’ll try not beat you up so much. (pause) We’ll leave that to you.
(Dad and Bro start laughing almost to tears)
Lil Bro: I hate you guys.
Dad: (wipes his eyes) Awe, sorry. We’re stopping now. (He looks at Big Bro) Right?
Big Bro: (he nods to Dad and smiles, then he reaches over and grabs another piece of pizza) Five chances bro. (then he walks away)
Lil Bro: (Leans over and puts his head down in defeat)

Fist Shaped Kisses

Photo by Mad Otaku
She slaps my face and I don’t move

My cheek flares in shades of red

Her hand cuts through the air

The sound of it cracking into my skin

Echoes through the halls of the small apartment

I stand there like an unmovable oak

She swings again

Her hand was closed

Her rings raked my soft skin

Currents of crimson streaked my face

I would never hit her

I was raised better

She wasn’t

But love makes you do stupid things

Trying to prove how much you cared

By bleeding on the kitchen floor

I can’t even remember what started it all

I think I made chicken

I think it was lemon chicken

She doesn’t like lemon chicken

I think I knew that

But I forget sometimes

Her left hand’s knuckles crack into me ear

The ringing is intense as I stumbled

She called me names

I could feel my eyes deceive me

They begin to well

I loved her smile

I loved her soft touch

I loved her sweet words

At least I think I did

I haven’t heard them for years

I have not heard much aside from how I failed

I have not heard much but my shortcomings

I brought home my money to see it disappear

I made the food to see it get destroyed

She stands over me now

Mocking my tears

Calling me less of a man

I could crush her throat with one hand

But I take it

I take it for what I thought was love

She throws the plate of chicken at me

The plate busts my forehead open

The hot blood fills my sight

Tears mixed with blood

The taste of iron and salt on my lips

I rise to my feet

I walk away from her

My movements are sluggish

She shoves me from behind and I stumble again

A bloody handprint on the wall

I make it to the bedroom

She is right there

Telling me I am scum

Telling me how she should have fucked my friend instead

I pull out a suitcase I haven’t used since our honeymoon

I empty my two drawers

I put my six hangers of pants into the case

She tells me I’m a fuck up

She would be better off

I grab my hat and coat

My hand reaches the doorknob

She falls silent

She grabs my arm

She asks me to stay

I turn my swollen bleeding head

I stare at her hard enough for her to break her hold

I turn the knob and the evening sun burns my eyes

But for some reason

Some strange reason

I am smiling

“Fist Shaped Kisses” by Rio Martin

Insomniac Padre de los Niños

Life drains from me drop by drop as I stare at different parts of my room. TV holds no interest. The rest of the house slumbers. I lay here on my bed with no feeling of being tired. I would love nothing more than to sleep but I just stare. I see images in the acoustic ceiling. A clown is paying his loanshark who is actually a shark.

Pandora streams music into my ears in the hopes that it inspires sleep. But all it does is inspire the words that I write here. I would say that life brings my currents state but I am doing fairly well. I simply don’t sleep. I simply lay here. I tried turning my phone into a white noise machine. It is peaceful but I often imagine being on the beach I hear with my toes in the cool wet sand with a cold beer dangling from my fingertips. 

Is there a solution to this or is madness an eventuality. Will I become a victim of duality? Who is Tyler Durden? Will I find out someday soon? I could shave my head but I think I would get cold. Fighting people at night seems daunting, though being knocked out could be conducive to sleep. Consciousness suddenly being flung from your body by blunt force trauma as you collapse on the floor of a basement with the sound of a butcher dropping a side of beef. A cold slap echoes through the ears of those who witness the event. 

I am trying to find a place in this world where my tires will catch and traction will be achieved but until then the engine keeps revving and the gas burns away with little to no distance achieved. So I will listen to my music in the darkness. Letting it claim me and hope for sweet release to eventually find me. Sent by some greater force who felt pity for the tired father who worked through sickness and hell for the last week. Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead! The darkness swallows everything, but my eyes never close.

The Smiles We Wear

Image from

She sits up in the quiet of her apartment. Not a sound but her movement and a leave blower in the far off distance. She stares at the floor as her toes pinch at the carpet. A sigh escapes her mouth as she brushes her brunette locks out of her face. The quiet already begins to make her uneasy as she grabs her phone and turns on Pandora. She selects a station of French jazz as it fills her room. She pushes herself up from the bed, her legs getting used to the weight of her body. She doesn’t turn on a light because the pain it would cause her eyes at this point is not worth it.
She finally hears a noise in the next room as her girls rustle around. She slips on her pajama pants and comes out into the hall. She pops into their room and says good morning. The oldest is still bed and the youngest is lying on the ground next to her bed, squirming on the floor like a fish out of water. She rolls hers eyes and a small smile comes across her face as she prompts them for breakfast.
Soon the girls are sitting at the table eating cereal and watching Mickey Mouse. She wanders back down the hall after starting the coffee pot. She grabs her work outfit for the day and her bra and panties and heads for the bathroom. She looks at her tired eyes in the mirror and yawns, she pinches her little tummy and hoists her breasts up to where they were five years ago. It wasn’t too much of a difference, but that second child was like a milk vampire and her nipple had gotten so big from her abusive little mouth. She laughed when she made her nipples hard.
She took her shower and braided her hair once she was out, letting it dry in the braid. She slipped on her work clothes and tightened the straps on her bra before slipping on her shirt. Might as well make them seem like they were 25 again. She smiled and admired herself in the mirror. She was pretty, but she was definitely older. She winked at herself.
The oldest had already gotten dressed in the clothes her mother laid out for her the night before. The youngest was strewn around the couch. She prompted them to brush their teeth, and they both went into the bathroom with only being told four times, the last with a little growl. She poured her coffee into her tumbler and put her non-dairy creamer in and one sugar as she slid the toast down into the toaster. She loved bread but didn’t want to eat it all the time, so she started to make toast in the morning with some of her favorite raspberry jam.
She looked up from her toast and her eyes caught a family picture on the fridge. He was there, smiling, now he was across town. Today was the day they were going with him. She felt that familiar tightening in her chest, she would be saying goodbye to her children this morning for a whole week. She breathed deep and pushed the tears back down. She put her toast together into a sandwich and slid it into a sandwich bag.
It only took until the very last minute to get them all out of the house, still dragging the youngest behind her. She hugged them both tightly as she put them in the car. She started her old clunker that she got from her parents and pulled out of the carport and headed to their home so they could watch the youngest for the day. She saw her youngest playing with her chestnut brown hair and using it as a paintbrush on the foggy windows, a small smile played on her face. Her oldest had a thoughtful look on her face and then she locked eyes with her in the rearview. Her eyes were no longer thoughtful, but intense, and with tears at the edge of them. She knows what today means.
They pull into the driveway of her parent’s home and she gets out and walks around to her youngest’s door and lets her out and squats down to hug her tightly and stands up, her daughter’s legs swing in the air as she laughs. She kisses her on her soft rosy cheeks and sets her down. She tells her to be good for grandma and grandpa and she said she would. Grandma comes out and kisses the oldest and her daughter on the cheek and gives her a hug, she knows what today means too.
They waves as they leave the driveway. The road is long to school and her daughter sat their quietly. She told her she loved her. The daughter repeated the sentiment quietly from her seat. She looked in the rearview and saw her looking out the window but knew the face. She knew she was crying. She had a way of crying without making a single noise. She told her daughter she knew it was hard and that she would always love her no matter what happened. He daughter sniffled and shook her head.
 But them her daughter called her name and pointed out the window. In the distance a wide rainbow could be seen in the coming rain, cast by the morning sun. It looked like the clouds were raining colors. They marveled at it together. They talked about the colors. They enjoyed their moment. It was their moment. It couldn’t be stolen, it was something they would remember together. Her daughter said she should have snapped a pic, but then she said that they did, right in their heads. It was a picture for them to share. Her daughter seemed pleased with that answer.
They were at school, she came around and hugged her daughter. Then her daughter saw some friends and said goodbye as she ran away from her. She waved with a smile on her face, shielding her pain from the surface. She watched her daughter disappear into the grounds of the school, she would see her on FaceTime tonight hopefully for a fleeting moment. She got into the car and started it up, she was able to make it two blocks from the school before balling her eyes out. The tears splashed on her pants and she leaned against the wheel. She pulls her parts together and drive to work with her sunglasses hiding the trails of her tears as she wiped the strays away.

“The Smiles We Wear” by Rio Martin