Processional, Recessional, I’m a STRAIGHT up perfect day professional.
Designing timelines that blow minds, and playing traffic cop to buffet lines.
First toast, first dance.
Would’ve left when I had the chance.
If it weren’t for all the pats on the back.
I breathe the choices in deep, hoping my soul will weigh in on the answer. It doesn’t.
Stay or leave?
The question chases itself in circles, leaving me dizzy and nauseous.
Then the sting of being wrong passes.
I stay. Like always.
Rusted iron swells my tongue.
Exhaustion lurks on my cheeks to steal away salt.
Warm air is cooled by the weariness in my lungs, grabbing hold of focus and drowning it under early mornings and late nights.
White knuckled I drive anyway.
Is something crawling on me?
Give us your answer in 42 words.
3 AM is always here.
You brought it with you and hardly ever let it go. Though when you do everyone wears a smile, especially you.
Your giggles are pillows we rest our weary heads upon.
Your 3 AM’s a hard bed of regret.
With nothing left to fight William would forget where he was.
The loves he had loved. The “I’m sorries” that had made him a better man.
He fought the myriad ugly faces of self doubt so he could wear a real smile.
A forgotten friend peaks over the Cascades to say good morning.
She wipes away the constant mist like fog from a mirror.
And for a moment the Emerald City is wrapped in azure.
Always standing there behind gauzy grey clouds, she waits.
An accusing mural painted in blood. The third of four. I’ll be the fourth thought Detective Hashop. She’ll drain my blood and paint my crimes into a mural for all to see. I wonder if she’ll paint our wedding day as well.
Submitted for yeah write’s 42 word gargleblaster challenge.