MY NONSENSICAL RAMBLINGS VOL. II

BLACK MAGIC- Some of the most substantial events in our lives can be like lightning in the night sky. 

Illuminating our world with an unparalleled intensity for but a moment. The booming echo heard from even miles and miles away.

When I got the call about you it came as a shock.

You were on my mind the day it all went wrong. Fresh faced, but broken nonetheless. I stared blankly at my find. The bag was wax, glassine, with a stamp that read “Black Magic.”

She held me so close. Her warm loving embrace filling the emptiness you’d left behind. 

Her crooked smile never bothered me much, when I was with her. She filled the emptiness. She filled it so well. 

That cavern in my chest, the abyss, that ineffable black hole grew larger. She filled it so well. 

She held me when you couldn’t.

Seeing you in that gown, in that bed, somewhere else, was surreal.

Memories washed through my mind like raging floodwaters. Branches snapping, trees uprooted, unearthing silt, stones, swirling, smashing, landscapes shifting. 

All of the words I’d left unspoken.

It happened so suddenly. Your aneurysm­ -- the aftermath.

It’s impossible to explain how one flat­line on an LCD screen can change everything. Words can’t describe what it was like weeping in the waiting room struggling to accept.

Long ago, before I understood why you couldn’t put the bottle down; long before the Black Magic got ahold of me... I hoped to never see you again.

The dancing flame of a candle

Is mesmerizing

The way in which it lights up

The darkness

And flickers

Melting wax

Dripping

There is a beauty

In the asymmetry

The droplets

They harden

The byproduct

Of a dancing flame

The wax and the flame

Ineffable in their beauty

The candle

It wanes

The wick

It dwindles

The flame

It’s extinguished

Wax and wick

They always have

An expiration date

Killed by their own beauty

All that remains is

A puddle of hardened wax

No more

No more flame

A kerosene lamp

Serves its purpose

Without wax

Function not form

Easily maintained

I’m left wondering

Why do I love

The beauty of the candle

When the flame

It always fades

Maybe I should get

we were the forgotten ones. the ones who fell through the cracks. they said we lived in sin, we were a menace to society. we were the failures. we spent our time in the alleys and cuts, fleabag motels, & seedy apartment buildings with unsavory landlords who didn’t “ask no questions.” we stuck together, so we didn’t feel so alone.

We have built ourselves a home; we never learned how to be carpenters. We just built. No one taught us.

***ROUGH DRAFT OF - PINE BOX.*** The pine box slowly descends.

1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6...

The crisp old dirt. Crumbling; crunching. Coldly accommodating.

Frosted blades of grass remain still despite the chilled air whipping about.

Scarves dancing to the rhythmic patterns of the wind. A somber scene; saddened souls silently sobbing. There is little that can be said. Tears freezing, stinging cheeks. Everyone is wondering, but no one is asking. Why? Inevitably spring will come. Thawed landscapes reborn. Green, vibrant; rejuvenated.

The pine box and it's slumbering inhabitant shall remain eternally silent. Forever still. Laid to rest...  ...once upon a time, on that grey winter’s day.