We made a conscious decision to ignore it forever,
forsaking reality for one we could explore forever.

Telling stories around a campfire, we were entranced.
The embers crackled at each other, but no war is forever.

Her eyes filled with shock at the knife in her chest.
She gasped for breath, her body wanting more forever.

He laughed. She smiled. Work could wait another hour.
They were in love with each other they swore, forever.

We told stories to our children, teaching them nightly
how to escape the physical; imagination’s door is forever.

All things withered around us. Even minds fade in time.
She said to me, “Kyle, you know we can’t restore it forever.”

We once believed in a world
sprawling with infinite possibility.
The promises given to us of tomorrow
foretold something far greater
than what we are left with.
Those dirty promises polluted us,
filling our heads with empty fairytales.
As they begin to fall we have nothing
to help us hold our ground.
As the stars crash to the earth
a people stand, defiant
in the face of infernal wrath,
holding out for a scrap of hope.
Though we have nothing at all,
we stand against our demise
because we were cheated
out of the fairytale life
we all once believed could happen.
I refuse to roll over and let time
end before mine has even begun.
We were promised a better life,
not one of diminished dreams.
We were promised we would be eternal,
a memory that could never fade.
We were promised this was not
how the world would end.

I don’t bother to think twice
when I tell a lie where I assess
that no one should be bitter.
As long as every muscle contracts
to make my arms and legs move
I barely notice any hiccups
in their steps along the way.
I believe I am like this today
because Her Royal Fuck-up,
mother, showed me how I could remove
my conscience, ignoring facts.
She told her family she loved us –
her body is a seizure,
refusing to consider the price.

My phone would ring at erratic times
every single night without fail.
“Do you know the time?” mother would
ask so quietly. “I don’t,” was
all I could muster.

Every day the same ringing
buzzing away from my desk.
“It’s ten o’clock dear,” she growled.
The time on my wall was all wrong.
She made me believe her every word.

“It’s six-fifteen. Fix your clock,”
her voice rang in my head. She had
no real clue. Every clock on her walls
told something different; the timekeeper
was just as jumbled as me.

I threw my phone against the wall,
but it was unyielding. “I told you
to fix it, my little one,” she screamed.
There was no escaping her grasp;
time is a never-ending nightmare.

“What time is it?” I fought back.
She stumbled, unsure of herself.
I shouted, “Time is your poison.
I won’t drink another drop!” I shivered,
my phone in pieces on the desk.

We refused to say goodbye, justifying future outings.
Door closed, leaving her. Forgot a picture.
Driving on lightless streets under a starless sky,
I tried to remember the sound of her voice,
an echo distorting and fading the farther I got.

Each drop of rainwater collected,
forming into veins on the window.
Our fingers glided along the glass,
pumping the heart, sending blood
and life through the streaks of water
that followed our touch. Heartbeats
grew rapidly until the veins connected,
and warm bodies met,
leaving only her hand in mine.

On that day, countless pictures
were taken of the entire spectacle.
There were photos of all kinds:
“poses,” “ambushes,” “rushed,” and
the occasional “completely unaware.”

The sky was cloudy, but it
didn’t remotely touch the mood,
going largely unnoticed. Cars
lined the streets of the arrivals,
ready to immortalize the moment.

My hair was freshly cut, as a request
from my brother. The focus was all
on him, but I was proudly at his side.
Our mother’s hair shined on us both,
though she was not allowed to attend.

My brother cracked a joke, and like
a reflex I gave him that disbelieving
look, but I was laughing with him.
I had his ring in my pocket, guarded,
safe in his trust in me.

His wife-to-be remarked that the way
he was with me, was unmatched by anyone.
The ceremony was soon, and it was clear
he had no negative thoughts. He was ready,
and I followed his lead, like always.

She stood with me in the crystal
rain, giggling as we hid how we
waited for each other. She was
all that I wanted. Finally, I got
my chance as we traded blue kisses
that still radiated their warmth.

Mammoth was becoming my second
home. It had seasons unlike back here
in Laguna. The three of us would compete
over catching the biggest fish in spring, while
Sean and Dennis pelted me with ice that winter.
Mom lost it when she saw my cut up face.

My brother and I finally had control.
He was in the driver’s seat, making me
the co-pilot. On the way to school
he showed me my first real taste of music.
I was in punk rock bliss.

She tried to end her life. I did
what I could to stop her, blurting
out that I loved her. It wasn’t true
but her life mattered more than
my adolescent principles.
We didn’t talk for years.

I agreed to go with mother that Halloween,
following my brother’s decision.
It seemed like the greatest idea, eating candy
and watching movies all night long.
Children have no concept of the world
of consequences when you grow up.

Dad got married again. When he told
us of the proposal, we sat in shock.
Objections and betrayal filled
every part of my mind, but I could
not speak. I was dying to, but
I could not.

The cold air bit at my exposed skin,
chilling my toes until they were stone.
Each step I took was a thud
in my bones, stinging but devoid
of any pain.

The sky was hidden by gray ice.
Rain seemed inevitable, but it
never came, affording me no company.
There was nothing to distract myself
from each numb step I took.

The street was barren, the buildings silent.
I was bonding with the sidewalk, whispering
secrets to it as my body grew accustom
to the stone. The concrete had many cracks,
but it had no pain.

We found him out in the storm
soaking from head to toe.
Nothing of him was spared,
his clothes tattered and ripped.
A home was all he needed.

We shared our bread with him
and tried to dry his clothes fervently.
Still damp and cold, he was shaking.
A fire was lit and warmth filled his bones.

We could see into him.
Our inspection was scrupulous.
Like the Fates with their strings
his life was ours to mend;
a school to alter his will.

He began to fornicate with them,
the outcasts who refused our grace.
We knew he did not belong here.
Opening the door we cast him out.
He is forever dead to us now.