Pensinpotatoes

He sat, huddled between my brother and me, whistling a jaunty tune I did not recognize. But this night did not seem to require a tune with such jaunt. It was an eerie night, one such a city experienced every now and then. But a city this was not. Just a small pub somewhere out in the far countryside. I do not believe we were even on the map.   "This drink shall be my last, Sir Dyles!" My brother slobbered on my shoulder, quite joyously.   "Tis what you said five minutes ago, you drunkard." I said, unenthusiastically.   The drink did not seem to satisfy my aching heart tonight. It didn't seem to satisfy anything anymore. The warm liquid

It may just be a house. A house I no longer visit. One I live at no more. The house we sold to someone we don't know. It may just be a house. Some 40 odd years old; with a beautiful addition on the right, and nice old bricks on the left. It may just be a house. A house with old, stubborn, hard-to-get-open windows, and doors that seem to shut on their own. It may just be a house. One with a kitchen that's falling apart. The tiles gone from the walls, and the linoleum ripped up from the floors. The washing machine quit from so much use, and I had to scoop out the water, cup full by cup full. It may just be a h

Just for some money to get by for the next week, I convince myself, as I sit in the passenger seat. He doesn't know me, and I don't know him, all he knows is my name and where I work on the street. "Tonight, I'll make you scream like no other man has," he smiles, with the heat of an aroused man. I try to look like I'm interested and fully there, but I'm just trying to do what I can. He pulls up into the driveway of a mansion, and comes over to my side to let me out. "I didn't know you lived in a mansion," I said, knowing he'd be able to pay greatly without a doubt. He gently took me by the hand, and

"Look at those big, white mountains," He says, squeezing my young breasts. I try to move; Try to hide the evidence sinking into the water holding my chest. I didn't know what was happening. Why did he touch me in such a way? Never before had he shown such interest. What was so different about today? I am eleven, and he about thirteen; My brother, nine, behind us, getting in. Young cousins going for a swim, whoever thought that he'd touch my skin. I let it go, thinking nothing of it at the time, I just kept on swimming, keeping my distance Hoping he wouldn't do the same thing again; never knowing of his persistence. Later that

He runs in; never thinking that his life could be taken so easily. It's not on his mind, as he picks up a young girls unconscious body from the torn couch; away from the raving flames. Running, coughing, holding tight to the still body in his ash covered arms. She stirs, and he smiles, looking down at her small, beautiful face with a fathers gaze. She's Asian, with hair the color of midnight black, and a face of tinted pink porcelain. She's covered from head to toe in burns, and black ash. Her clothes are apart of her flesh in places, melted together by the fire. But he couldn't think of that now.

Iddle, widdle, and wry It's why the children cry It's why their parents laugh and eat And the very next day they die. Iddle, widdle, and wry It's why the women lie It's why they're found in bed with men And the very next day they die. Iddle, widdle, and wry It's why the eagles fly It's why they swoop and catch the sun And the very next day they die. Iddle, widdle, and wry It's why he's on my thigh It's why he slaps and thrusts so hard And the very next day he'll die. Iddle, widdle, and wry It's why she is so shy It's why she's never dated or kissed And the very next day she'll die. Iddle, widdle, and wry It's why he gets

The storm is passing. I can feel it. I know when it is to rain; to snow, hail, thunder. I can feel it in my bones; right through my steel breastplate, and shield. The people are coming; trudging through the ice and freshly fallen snow. These people who are new to this camp. A camp given to me; a knight who knows only her ways, and must learn to give her own orders. They pass through the gates, dragging their scrawny bare feet, their children in tow. They don't even notice me standing above them; peering over the walls to sight the new convicts and refugees my lord has sent me. I wonder what the

You hold my hat, because I'm dead You read the words, I should have said I should have listened, to your warning that night I should have known, to die, I just might. You grieve my loss, because I'm gone You cry all night, until the dawn I should have told you, the three words I know I should have known, not to go. You worry about our son, because I'm not there You stare at the window, trying not to care I should have given you everything, I never did I should have given you more, than just our kid. You wonder about where I am, and how I'm doing You stare at our son in his bed, when he's cooing I should have known at that second

I go each day wondering if you'll be there when I get home. My worry overwhelms my being. You cannot ask of me what I cannot promise. You tried to make me promise not to cry when your time came. I promised. Yet I cried. You tried to make me promise not to worry about you when you left. I promised. Yet I worried. You tried to make me promise not to say I was ugly. I promised. Yet I said it. You tried to make me promise not to change. I promised. Yet I changed. You tried to make me promise not to use drugs. I promised. Yet I used. You tried to make me promise never to forget you. I promised. Yet I forgot. You tried to make