Breathe now. Just, breathe.

Like second hand smoke it sneaks into my veins
corrupting my once so innocent insides.
Slowly, breaking.
Breaking, slowly.
I am crushed and cognizant no more.
Like a hammer it rams itself into my mind.
BANG. BANG.
Until it has faught its way in and i am
Breaking.
Breaking.
Like a stake I'm smashed into the ground.
Lower.
Lower.
Until I am visible no more.
Like a box closing in.
I am smaller.
Smaller.
I am falling.
Rolling.
Sliding.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Until there is no where left to go.

Uselessness

Empty like an abandoned cave. Dark like the slightly lit forest when the sun runs like a river through the trees. The half smashed water bottled neglected months ago lay lifeless in the corner atop the flooring; dark colored and fuzzy tickling any hand that runs it's fingers across it. Bigger than a young child, smaller than a man. The stain on the floor creeps into the crevices and cracks leading a path to the donut and jack. The dust sneaks up and disguises the only white substance known inside; a small hand book with pages twisted and curled never noticed in the darkness that consumes when the trunk is closed.

Life in the window

A young boy sat peacefully on the creamy leather couch next to his mom. The boy on the right. The mom onhis left. With those big eyes kids get when saying something exciting, he told her that he wanted to sit in daddy's spot tonight. He sat with his knees bent, and his pajama bottoms lopsided on his waist showing he had pulled them up himself. It had become a routine for them to watch American Idol together through out the week. It was rare though that the little boy sat still to watch t.v. so the mommy embraced the mellow situation. They shared a bowl of popcorn and the mom knew her son felt proud, for American Idol nights were the only nights he was allowed to stay up passed his bed time. The boy should have a set schedule, or so everyone tells the mom but she very much appreciated his company. The show went on commercial and with the smell of butter in the air, something caught the boys attention, and so he stared out the window splattered with drops of rain. When he spoke it was with a tone of excitement. "Daddy outside!"
It caught the mom off guard as she looked at the boy and then slowly followed the path of the boy's eyes.
"Michael, did you say daddy was outside?"
"Yeah, at window!" The boy exclaimed. Although the boy was already three, he often talked lazily and forget unimportant words.
"What's daddy doing out there?" The mom tried to talk casually but her voice flowed with trepidation.
"Daddy cold. He wants to come inside."
Although knowing it was impossible the mom then said, "Well, tell Daddy to come in." Her eyes started to fill with tears. The small warm drops dripped down her cheeks and tickled her face. In his own way the boy understood and he sat closer to his mommy as if leaving enough room for someone to sit on his other side.

Packed with Proof

Her hands rummaged through the items piled on the closet floor. She grabbed a small box and opened it. It was empty. She straightened the sides, dropped in a movie ticket stub, and smiled. She hid the box under her bed. After that, the lid was opened almost everyday as letters, pictures, drawings, clothing tags, receipts, and anything else that reminded her of him became a part of its contents. As the box filled with proof of the moments she hoped never to forget, the memories outgrew the walls and it became time to buy a new pair of shoes.

dog poop

Today I woke up at 6:00. I got dressed at 6:06. I ate oatmeal at 6:54.
Psych!

This is my first entry and what a great day for an entry! Bad moods create crazy thoughts.
You know, when we were nothing but bed-wetting little brats that ran around in our underwear, it seemed our biggest fear was wondering what could possibly be hiding in the darkness under our bed at night. Our greatest accomplishment was rolling down the hill faster than any other kid on the block. That is, until we rolled in dog poop. As I grow older, I often find myself looking under the bed, wondering if any one, or thing, really will ever jump out at me. And still to this day when I find myself rolling at turbo speeds down the hill or life for this matter, faster than anyone around, feeling amazingly accomplished, and forgetting about every other worry, there is always dog poop somewhere along the way.

I saw that fire today and decided to investigate. I didn't stop to think that I wasn't the only nosy person living in this city. Dead stop traffic. I will definitely never do that again, and I don't recommend it either.