Crime Scene
My rage is thicker than blood right now. I cannot allow this disrespect to continue. I will show you the fear of God in tears if I have to. Once it’s been done, it’s through. Over and out. No in between on the wrong crime scene. Honestly, how can you be so mean? Because you want me and you can’t have me and I have the power to humiliate you publicly. You think I have money and friends but I don’t. I don’t even have family anymore. If you thought this is funny, you’re wrong. I won’t play along. I’m too strong to appease you. It’s impossible to please you or be at ease around you. You disturb my spirit. I can’t eat what you eat. I can’t sit where you sit. I can’t stand where you stand because I am above you, nurtured by better hands than you have to do what you’d like to do. You’re a child about what you desire. The gleam in your eyes is wildfire but it doesn’t warm me. It burns and stings just in time for the phone to ring. That’s when I find out what you tried to do and what you’re all about. My kindness is not weakness, bro, so don’t fake the facade with me. I’m no fool. I’m not the mother you curse that used to wipe the corners of your mouth from baby drool. Im not the one who made fun of you in school. I also don’t think you’re cool. I think you’re lame. You love to play mind games and you crave money and power over fame for the sake of your own forbidden name. I prayed you out of jail because I know what it’s like in there but even if you knew that, you would care. You would dare hate me more because you can’t take me out on a promising date. You will meet your unlikely fate before it’s too late for the rest of us to find peace through the madness & shelter from the storm you created because that’s the norm for your state of mind but that’s obviously how you get callously left behind. The consequences are ferociously unkind, leaving you unfamiliarly blind to ways they tried to pray to bind you but figuratively & fictitiously died back in May when their human rights decided to stay a little while longer to prove exactly who’s weaker & who’s stronger. It’s a hunger for something better when you find that last note that was once a letter to the infamy of the trendsetter in attempted attendance today. You made your bed. You chose to lay there, in it, completely aware of the damage you’d done by the setting of the sun when you look to the west in a buckled up, bullet proof vest that cost a nickel and a dime and came with a sweet deal combo meal that remembered not to add pickles when it doesn’t tickle the customers that trickle into the drive thru to order food people can’t make in under five minutes. It takes time to cook, time to bake, time to prepare, from medium rare to well done. None of us are having fun. Are you?
No
Then don’t just sit back and do nothing. Get up and track the proof of the paper trail to wherever the hell the hole in the roof is so we aren’t sarcastically transmitting ammunition to the wrong source that ran its unstable course too many times to count, despite the limitations on the dollar amount for how much it’s worth from birth to death on an annual network that blinks when it thinks of a solution to a previous problem that hasn’t visited in a while and doesn’t know how to smile anymore. The open door is inviting all its friends and relatives in unique style for a pile of cash that can’t be cooked or rebooked once it’s sold out unless it does proverbial things for clout when it cant dance or sing or bring anything to the table that enables it to succeed in a harsh world, fingers tightly curled. I have not sat back & done nothing but I haven’t sought help yet which is my one regret. I need to untie the bets I made on a long term lease that will release my defense on no uncertain terms while it pays for our daughters prom pictures & perm, further reducing unemployed germs from infecting a defective heart that only had love to give. It isn’t time to die. It’s time to live. It doesn’t matter how old you are as long as your actions are on par.
Now you sound like a preacher.
Or a teacher.
I look at you thoughtfully but make no remark because I’m in no mood to debate with you after dark while I’m impatiently waiting for our son to get back from the park to spark the joint that already made its point for the day.
It’s been a week.
That’s the reality you seek
Then, yes
Wait, you’re agreeing?
You nod. Because I’m seeing your side. You have a valid point of view. You have nothing to hide.
I always do.
After all you’ve been through.
It’s over due.
Ignore the master mind. You’re smarter than he is.
I know I am.
Yes ma’am. You already know
I always do
Through and through
This is no longer a theory. It’s a fact that tipped its hat to the worn & the weary, quite intact.
It’s thinking clearly.
Simply, merely.
It’s almost eerie.
It was founded by the unseen that were clever with defining green screens.
Were they mean?
Where do you think he inherits it from?
You bite into a piece of gum, looking intently for a trash can to play your next best man, not the hungover, strung out gangster in the mysterious white van parked outside the front yard.
White picket fence?
I’m unsure. Wasnt a detail I paid any attention to that wasnt purportedly derailed to lure him into his own trap, landing right in his unconscious lap.
I’m entirely tired of his crap
As you should be. There’s no excuse for that kind of disrespect. He’s jealous and furious that he can’t inspect you himself.
Where’s his shelf life? What’s his purpose?
Hes expired.
Thats what I thought. His family wants to pretend that he hasn’t bought drugs but I can see the difference when he’s high and when he’s sober. I’ve been digging through this since mid to late October. I almost saw him cry at thanksgiving. He had red, puffy eyes and avoided looking at me. I try to feel bad for him & show him kindness he hasn’t been bestowed before but he’s just so sick. The quality of life isn’t there and neither is he.
You always avoid looking at each other.
Hes nothing to me. Not even a brother. His mother loves me more than she loves him. I don’t curse at her, try to steal her meds, money and purse, and yell at her while I’m drunk.
You don’t get drunk.
Not anymore.
He’s poor.
No he’s not. He has income and he has a large inheritance coming. It’s up to him what he does with it.
Probably blow it on why he over-doses. That would be my visions. What a collision.
You’re angry.
His brother hid his meds again. Took me forever to find them to begin with. Is his love for me a myth?
I think his brother loves you more than he does, like no other.
I can tell.
You know too well. You just won’t, don’t, can’t admit it.
I won’t permit it. I couldn’t be his wife if I tried. He’s so rude. He’s like an instant bad mood from old, under cooked fast food. He’s like the song I hate the most.
I moved from coast to coast for a toast that turned into a underground roast? It’s hard not to brag when all you want to do is boast.
There’s a difference between being happy about something you’re passionate about that’s owed to you and bragging to feel important. You don’t do that.
Correct.
There’s really no time or way to easily inspect this.
Seal it with an obsolete kiss that won’t hiss at you when it’s caged and won’t mock you because it’s too staged to age. Turn the last page & when you pull the f*cling trigger, don’t you dare miss.
©️Akasha 2022. All rights reserved.
So very deep