Author Archives: Fresh Hell

Simple Things

 

This is kind of silly. I barely remember writing it.

 


 

Life is a cold flowing
Unassuming
Concatenation of lifestyle choices.
We mindlessly move
In the direction
In which we were pointed.
Is there more?
Who cares?
We can feel the wind
We can see the green
We can laugh
We can chew
We can do anything.
There is hot tea
And warm cats
And somebody to fill your water bottle.
There are toilets to pee in
Women to love
Men to admire
And creepy dolls to burn.
There are books to read
Books to write
But maybe I won’t start tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Coral

 

Fields ringed of blue

Curly coral

Catching waterlight

Refractions of the upper world

Circling an abyss

Inside the center

Down

Down

 

Down

 

Silence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

I do this for you.

 

I do this for you.
I am relieving you
Of the burden
Of myself.
I love you too much
To destroy you repeatedly.
Instead, this way, you are only destroyed once more.
Please forgive me.
I know you will.
You’ve forgiven me for worse.
You forgive me
Daily
For worse.
I don’t deserve your forgiveness.
I don’t deserve anything.
I don’t deserve your presents or love or encouragement.
I don’t deserve your tears, your money, your heartache.
I don’t deserve your long-suffering, painful red eyes.
I don’t deserve the way
You just keep bending.
I deserve your hatred.
I deserve blows.
I deserve prison.
But you
Will never give those things to me
Not you.
Not ever.
I will never change.
I have tried and I have tried.
I’m giving up on me.
Something you would never do.
Then again, I was never
Good enough
For you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

It’s better to react quickly and look stupid than to not react in time

One of my coworkers just got his hip replaced. I am very fond of him. He is a fellow writer, and he always eats my cooking. Brave, brave man. 😉

Today was one of his first days back. From his cube, I heard a THUNK and then him swearing quietly.

My stomach dropped. I left my chair and rushed into his cube.

He was fine! He had been raising his desk to a standing height when the side got hooked on the printer, raised it, and dropped it. That was the big noise.

Two other concerned coworkers peeked in. After the worried questions and dismissive answers, we went back to our desks. One of them remarked, “Wow, you were in there fast! I sit right next to him and you were still in there before me.”

Having had an ill mother, as well as several very accident-prone family members, all the kids in my family learned to jump when something happened.

I am haunted by an experience I had when I was about 19, in college. I was supposed to spend some time visiting an old lady in a home as part of a community service credit.

In the course of our conversation, she had mentioned to me that a resident next door to her had fallen and was calling for help for hours before she heard her and got staff to help.

Later on, I went to visit her again. As we talked, and I kept hearing an odd, high vocalization every minute or so, from the other room. I didn’t think about it too hard, and politely wrote it off. I must have heard it for at least 30 minutes. Eventually the lady I was with heard it, too.

“What is that sound?” she said.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I keep hearing it.”

Being wheelchair bound, she pushed the call button, waited for an aide, and asked them to check on the noise. In her wisdom and experience, she was proactive about the situation the minute she noticed something unusual.

Of course, it was the resident in the next room. She had fallen again and was calling from the floor, in her frail weak voice, “Help!…Help!”

It’s amazing how much you forget. In writing this, I realized I don’t know if I ever saw the neighboring resident’s face. I don’t remember what we were talking about. The whole thing is like a hazy dream.

Only one thing keeps its sharp clear edges:  the sounds in the background of our long conversation, sounds which I had written off in the back of my mind, sounds which I was too shy and uncertain to act upon, and so ignored: a pathetic, persistent, exhausted cry for help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

What do you feel

 

What do you feel
With you delicate fingers?
What do you toes?
What tongue what eyes what ears you?
Your gossamer curls
Anachronistic
Your crooked teeth
Pearls
Who is like you?

I hold you close
I want to protect you.
I cannot protect you.
You are being eaten from within.

Your white face
Your trembling hands
Your eyes wet
What tears
Mingle with mine
We sit knee to knee
And grieve our imminent parting.

Though I hold your hand now.
The shadow of your hand
Memory pressed into my flesh
Will linger long after.

Will you remember me?
I share your fear.
Do you feel this tenderness?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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