the drowning of a bird.

The separation is starting to wear in on the body and mind. The more free time I have to myself the more damaging the thoughts grow. They appear on the horizon, a wild herd of horses snorting steam with fire in their eyes. The headache beats to the pulse of their stampeding hooves. A few pills to ail the aching and I've resolved that vodka and whiskey only mute the noise of their approach for a limited time and before long their presence will force its way through my nose into my hands. A burnt path of crimson drips into the mouth and on my fingertips. All the advice my mother would offer clouds my head and I can't remember if I should lean forward or backward. I know I should pinch the bridge to stop the flow of blood and to slow the approach of wild horses on my tongue. I pull the ice cube out of my drink and hold them to my nose hoping the cold will slow the blood flow.

Choking down the blood in my throat I ask.

Why'd you do that?

Her hair swings around her head as she swivels to face me. Face taught with an inner explosion of emotions she suppresses. Beyond her eyes of cadaver blue hides the loneliness of a child that wants to prover herself worthy of all that she never received in life; love. Each curve of every muscle in her body a monument to the devotion and love she has for her own body, or so she says.

Because you're making me blow a contract.
I'm not worth it you know.
I know.
Then why?
Because my father made me crush a bird's skull instead of mending the bird's wing. 'Put it out of the misery,' he said, 'it'll be happier that way.' You're a little bird and I don't agree with my father.
Thanks.
Don't. It's all selfish.

and that's how my weekend was, how was yours? I think I'm going to have to make up a soundtrack to my life, because well mixes are addictive and apparently my iTunes can handle a few more.