How can legs so thin be so bruised? She moved away with all the speed of a snail yet none of the grace. At any moment, i expected the heel of God to come crashing through the mall roof to shatter her shell and spread her slime across the floor so that apathetic passersby would learn how to slip.
Instead, madness would become her companion so that she wouldn’t die alone.
With my tongue safe upon the lips of a coffee cup, my thoughts fly dangerously close to the thin skin weathering an accumulation of age and unhappiness.
What use were the pink, feathered wings attached to the headless mannequin … flight? The broken escalator possessed better direction. Yes, i’m in the mall again, wondering what cake i am if the main ingredients are hate and frustration overwhelmed by a dollop of sadness.
I can’t be that smiling Toddler that’s holding Mommy’s hand. There is only now and a future that will become Now. There’s the Old Man battling to descend the stairs, one crutch at a time (or is that one victory at a time?). I certainly can’t be that Super Sexy Lass (and take a toilet break to masturbate).
But i could be the Whiner who sat at the table behind me, complaining to her Father about the medicals, the house and the job. Not even a lonely prettiness escaped her lips. Her greetings to her father she hardly saw was that self-consumed shrill that’s become the most common human infection. Maybe i could be Him, delivering obligatory bad advice and apathies to her antipathy.