APL

Untouched by Rylan Hunter

2011-06-19T17:13:00.000-04:00

Untouched

Sometimesthe filthiest whores are guarding the virgin. I know how to read your desires,your wants, your perversions and anything you see written on me is the finestfiction on any bestseller list. It scares me to know all the things I can do toyou if you'll let me. And you will let me. My bite can bruise your skin,my thrust can bruise your throat, my eyes can bruise your ego. Every livingprick with a fat wallet believes that power is green parchment with headshotsof dead men, but once the sweat hits the sheets, the rules change and the powertransforms itself into my hands, my tongue, and just how tight I clamp downaround you. By the time the night is over I'll be painted with the stickyambassadors of every orifice; a canvas of degradation ... humiliation. Anyonecan own the whore in me for the right price, but my heart is a virgin. Neverbeen touched.

Photography by KimHanson

http://www.kimhanson.net/index.html

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TipToe by Rylan hunter

2011-06-15T07:07:00.000-04:00

TipToe

Go back tosleep.

It's tooearly for soothing rejection and I need some coffee.

Close youreyes and stop looking at me like that.

Hurt.Betrayed. Needy.

You haveno right. You're the one whose eyes marked me in the dim lights of the club.

Goldenskin.

Eagermouth.

The thingsyou can do with that mouth almost make you worth a little more time ...

I canstill feel the muscles in your throat coaxing those last few drops from me.

The weightof your heels digging into my back; the impossible ways that your body movedbeneath mine.

We made atangled, sticky mess that tasted of deception.

I nevertook the ring off my finger. You have no right.

Go back tosleep.

Photography by SteveHenry

http://www.stevehenryphotographer.com

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H by Rylan Hunter

2011-06-12T19:00:00.003-04:00

Light of day.

Rejection's throbbing ache subsides andstarting over looks appealing.

Clarity is sober.

Camarena's red ribbon reminds me.

I can do this.

Muddy sky with lonely winds.

Everything wrong disappears on a wavethat pulls me under.

Technicolor illusions.

The hollow-eyes that seek my company ona trip to heaven remind me.

I can handle this.

Between the light of day and the muddyskies ...

Stench.

Rivers of fluid on sweat-soaked sheets.

The body shivers, trembles, shakes withrepulsive need for sunshine in a vial.

Escape routes are formed through mypores but the worst is yet to come.

Nourishment explodes from my belly instreams that make my throat bleed.

I lay in my own waste.

Unable to be still; crawling from oneend of the filthy mattress to the other.

When will this end?

Please.

By the light of day, there will alwaysbe muddy skies, lonely winds, crashing thunder of cravings.

Clarity is sober.

My enslavement as a pincushion holds awrit of manumission.

I can do this.

I am free.

Photographby inkedkenny
www.inkedkenny.com

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Have You Seen Me? by Rylan Hunter

2011-05-31T22:28:00.000-04:00

HaveYou Seen Me?

Woke upnext to a warm body.

Can'tremember his name.

I probablynever asked.

Flyinghigh.

Sweat,salt, maybe a few tears.

He has noname but I know how to make him cry out.

I knowwhere to squeeze, where to bite, where to pinch.

I don'tknow him, but I know him.

And theonly stranger here is me.

Photography by OHMPhotography

http://www.ohmphotography.com/

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Tipping Point by Rylan Hunter

2011-05-30T21:56:00.002-04:00

Tipping Point

You're broken and jagged nails scratching down the blackboard of my emotions.
Nothing is ever enough.
Tried the path of least resistance, quiet desperation.
My feet are bloodied now from the razors you force me to walk upon.
Never good enough.
Every kiss leaves me gagging on the stench of your suspicions.
Embraces are only opportunities to make me struggle.
Thought you broke me.
I thought so too.
Until the silence was fractured and every lie from your mouth that I swallowed came spewing out.
I never want to be good enough for you.

Photography bySylvain Norget

www.butportraiture.com

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Us by Rylan Hunter

2011-05-25T07:01:00.000-04:00

One touch.

Thatexhalation of breath that comes when my hand skims fevered skin until it pausesover your beating heart.

My ownheart races in anticipation of what I plan to do to you.

With you.

For you.

Smoothstrokes.

No betterimage than the one of you squirming from just my touch.

I love towatch your face when you come beneath my possessive hand.

Your eyessqueeze shut, your teeth clench together, and that moan is better than thefinest symphony.

I run afinger through the sticky aftermath before tasting you.

And yousmile.

And touchme back.

Photography by Steve Henry

http://www.stevehenryphotographer.com

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Wonderful World by Rylan Hunter

2011-05-22T19:33:00.001-04:00

Wonderful World

There are so many things to choose fromwhen I think about the things I hate most from my childhood. The twisted lipsthat whisper poison as I walk by, the cold eyes that stop me from reaching out,the adults that pretend not to see. I wear the wrong clothes as I walk thewrong walk and they crucified me when I felt the wrong feelings for the wrongperson. Did you know that it isn't love when your childhood crush is the sameas you? I found out the hard way that familiarity really does breed contempt.So what if it gets better? The people saying that in their thirty-second spotsnever have to walk the halls with me or have my back when a shoving hand sendsme tumbling to the ground. Mostly I hate sitting in an office while a concernedface spits out brightly colored placebos meant to offer me hope and help mecope. If I'm not wrong, then why am I the only one being offered therust-covered tools to change? Why not buy some shiny new tools for everyoneelse? Freedom isn't in the future or in patronizing words; freedom is in themoments I sneak away and lie there in the shelter of my own embrace. I praythat being sixteen and thinking ... someday ... doesn't turn into sixtyand wondering if Louis Armstrong's words will ever be true. I think to myself....

Photography by Terry Smith

http://www.americasfinestkids.com/

http://americasfinestblog.blogspot.com/

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Facades by Rylan Hunter

2011-05-17T07:03:00.002-04:00

Facades

Warm smile that disarms with a curve of the lips,

And eyes that draw out secrets and confessions with just one understanding glance.

Illusion is his gift and he gives it freely.

I have candy, little boy.

One moment in his embrace is to know the comfort of being sheltered by the wings of an angel.

Music swells in the background and the air is scented.

Freshly cut grass, clean rain falling down, coffee brewing on a cold morning.

Let me take your troubles away.

His touch is addictive and the first hit is free.

The price after that goes up until you're on your knees.

He likes the way you look when you beg.

You're nothing without me.

Evil wears the face of innocence.

Photography by Kim Hanson

http://198.66.205.112/kimhanson/index.html

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Unconditional Love by Rylan Hunter

2011-05-09T10:30:00.001-04:00

Unconditional Love

It would be the perfect love if I wereperfect.

I'm flawed.

We might have the perfect love if youif you didn't love me quite so much.

You give me everything.

And I know that if I ask you to bleedfor me, you will.

And I know that if I ask you to denyyour needs for me, you will.

I would destroy you.

You'll give me every thread that holdsyour heart together and smile through your tears as you unravel.

Your closet was my lair when you wereyoung,

Until you embraced the very monsterthat had you screaming in your sleep.

Now here I am.

Unprepared for unconditionallove.

Run.

My remorse is slipping fast.

Photography by KimHanson

http://198.66.205.112/kimhanson/index.html

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Building by Russel Stratton

2011-05-02T22:30:00.000-04:00

Building

Wow.
A while since I've been here.

The old building site.
First a place of hope.
All those pedastals.
Then of obsession.
Those shrines.
Then of defense.
Those walls.
A temple to a former life. Long abandoned.

You came.
You didn't want a pedastal, you didn't need a shrine and together we torethrough every wall.
Every last place to hide was gone. I wouldn't need it any more.
All I'd need is you.
You'd always be there.
Nothing we couldn't face.

Deep breath, start stacking the bricks. We don't have long and this wall has tohold.
God I hope you come back soon.

Photography by Shawn V. Wells

http://apolaroid.deviantart.com/

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Drifting Apart by Rylan Hunter

2011-04-25T20:45:00.000-04:00

Drifting Apart

I remember a time when our eyesfollowed the same path as we moved in one direction. Your thoughts were asfamiliar to me as my own. I can't see what you see anymore, and when I do, Ican't make sense of the terrain. You guard your thoughts and I guard mine;we're no longer protecting each other. Do I know you anymore? I know you don'tknow me. Everything changes, but I never thought those changes would divide usuntil the day I finally looked at you and saw a stranger. Which one of usjumped overboard? Does it matter? We've drifted apart.

Photography by Greg Brown

http://www.gregbrowndesign.com/

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Trash Day by Rylan Hunter

2011-04-24T20:34:00.003-04:00

Trash Day

Blood red roses that were left all dayin the car with the stems sucking at nothing but air until they closed in onthemselves and faded away.

The apple with more bruises than myheart.

Yesterday's newspaper filled with liesand hate and nothing really new at all so why do we read it and expect to see goodnews? It never happens.

The ring you gave me that was a symbolof what you felt, and it was exactly that when you fought me to the ground andripped it from my finger.

Me.

Some things just aren't worth saving.

Photography by Joe Mazza

http://www.themaleimage.com/

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Communion by Rylan Hunter

2011-04-20T22:20:00.000-04:00

Communion

Inside you.

Inside me.

Intimacy in every touch, every look,every breath.

Excite me.

So familiar and my hand holds theleash.

Your hand guides mine.

A nexus of skin on skin, flesh insideflesh.

Holy.

Partake of me.

Artistry by John Clum

http://www.finelinefineart.com/

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Just Because by Rylan Hunter

2011-04-19T18:00:00.001-04:00

Just Because

Sometimes.

When it's barely light out and theworld sleeps.

Just you and me.

You ask the same question.

Why?

I look at you.

Words become my enemy when nothing Icould say is what I feel.

You believe I'm too good for you.

The truth lies in the oppositedirection.

Why?

You look at me.

The unguarded expression in your eyesoverpowers me.

It's barely light out and my mouth canonly summon a whisper.

You make me smile.

Photographyby Steve Henry

http://www.stevehenryphotographer.com

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Love Is A Crime by Brooklyn Grey

2011-04-18T22:13:00.000-04:00

Love Is A Crime  

What lies behind your eyes, 

True love or Devil lust in disguise.
Neither is a crime.
Just tell the truth. Don’t live behind a lie.

  You can be honest, It won’t hurt me. 

Telling a lie, That will hurt me.  

The blending of our colors makes forone

 hell of a ride; ignore the world justleave it behind. 

Just a strip of our clothes, a touch ofyour lips, ignore 

the ignorance. Live in truth, Don’tlive within a lie.   

Trust your heart. Trust it this time.

Photography by Greg Brown
http://www.gregbrowndesign.com/

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Parachutes by Rylan Hunter

2011-04-17T20:36:00.000-04:00

Parachutes

The first night was the darkest and all I could do was sit and stare at my phone thinking that there would be another message after the one that said It’s over, but nothing came. Everyone said you would do this to me. I thought I was different and special and the one, because you said I was. I didn’t know my heart could hurt this bad and still beat. I’ll never be okay again.

A week later and the only message you sent was to ask me to mail back some pictures you gave me. I did. All one hundred and seventy-eight tiny pieces of them. It’s so strange to feel this much hate for someone I loved seven days ago. I found out that it takes only four strong drinks every night before I start to forget about you, but one night it took more and the hangover the next day made it that much easier to hate you. How could you do this to me? You’re really not okay.

A month has gone by and when we were together, I thought there was nobody else in the world like you, but now that you don’t love me anymore, I see you everywhere I go. Except it’s always somebody else with your walk, your hair, your body that I thought belonged to me. I can finally sleep again, but I hate that crushing moment when I wake and forget to remember. I can’t recall what it feels like to be okay.

I would like to say I haven’t really paid any attention to how much time has gone by, but I know it’s been ten weeks and two days because my friends showed up with a case of beer and told me that if I think ten weeks is a long time to miss someone, then I don’t know anything since they’ve been missing me ever since he came into my life. I didn’t know anyone could miss me. I didn’t know I could laugh again and I was proven wrong on both counts. They took me out to breakfast the next morning and it was somewhere near the end of my Spanish omelette with extra pepper jack cheese that I realized I hadn’t thought about you at all in several hours. It felt sort of like that first clean breath when you’ve been underwater too long. My friends are pretty okay.

It only took me a week to hate you, but it took me nineteen weeks to realize what a selfish bastard you are. Did you really think I wanted you to call me and wish me a happy birthday? Not a word from you for eighteen weeks and then there you are sounding as if you had just run off to the gym and would be home any minute so we could go out and celebrate. Have you ever seen a windshield that has a weak spot? And there’s something causing that weakness until lines start to appear and then more weak spots and more lines until pretty soon the whole windshield is shattered. Well, that’s not you. You’re worse than the weak spot. You were the giant boulder that left nothing there but a gaping hole. Getting mad feels okay.

Six months now. It could have been dark and it could have been lonely, but instead I learned to fly. The friends that you chased away and that I neglected for so long surprised me with one of my old dreams, the one you said was stupid and that I was acting like a kid if I thought I could fly. When I first met you, I was a kid. And when I jumped from the plane and felt the rush of wind battling with gravity for my body, I remembered that there’s nothing wrong with acting like a kid. I plummeted, I fell, and when my safety net caught me and me floating like a leaf to the ground, I could only laugh and laugh. I think I’m going to be okay.

One year. I’m better than okay. I’m free.

Photography by J Cassoni

www.jcassoniphotography.com

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The Haunting by Jeff Pirrello

2011-04-14T20:46:00.002-04:00

The Haunting

Sweep up this lonely charred heart.

Burned in the ashes of my soul

are black fragmented remains

I fail to recognize

Don’t haunt me

The colors of the day faded

like a monochrome picture of the past.

That is where I eternally want toexist.

Emerged in a new love,

and life’s reality is fictional drama.

Don’t haunt me

Virtually flatlined is my heart,

while consumed with uncontrollablethoughts.

my mind is intertwined with lostpassions

and unredeemed emotion.

Don’t haunt me

There is screaming inside.

A voice of a soul in pain

expressing me to relinquish allemotion.

Time to lay it down, walk away and

Give up the ghost.

Photography by Ron Ray

http://bark.daportfolio.com/

http://bark.deviantart.com/

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Dear Addiction by Emmanuel “Emu” Salazar

2011-04-13T21:59:00.001-04:00

Dear Addiction,

You've tried taking two that I love.

You succeeded at one.

Did you take pride when you ruined afamily?

When you taught a 7 year old words like"prison", "court", and "deportation"?

Now here I am, eleven years later, andyou tried tangoing with someone I love again.

You thought you were slick, wedgingyour fingers between my love's tight grip.

During a dip when my eyes were closedfor a kiss, you swooped in.

You thought you had us fooled, yoursticky fingers stuck to his hand like super glue.

You twirled him around, made him dizzyin his own flesh.

You slinked your way beneath andcrawled up his chest.

Right to his heart. you made him numb.

I didn't fall for it, nor did his heartand his mind.

He saw the way I hurt, when you dancedhim far away.

He saw the way you'd hurt himpreviously.

So as the tempo sped, he slammed onyour toes.

Throwing you off kilter and breakingyour seductive ways.

Discovered for a fraud, we know youweren't a dance.

You tried to scratch your way back tothe top, digging those nails deep in his veins.

The swirls and twirls didn't fool him,he saw through that slimy skin.

He loves me more, and loves our tangomuch more.

Our dance more intricate, moreinvolved, that we can't even understand.

I hope your toes are broken, I hopeyou're paralyzed.

I hope you never get to dance again, afaded memory in the shadows.

Sitting there cripple with no one tohold, no one to hurt

Dear Addiction,

Fuck you.

Photography by StevenPerry

http://www.stevenperryphotography.com/

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Take Me by Rylan Hunter

2011-04-11T22:15:00.000-04:00

Take Me

High, high, adrenaline high.

Force my heart to thrash inside me,

Use your tongue to gag my cries.

If you want me, have to take me.

I can't win until I lose.

Need to tumble into razors,

With a

Need, need, devastating need.

It's the rush that makes me want you,

If you love me, make me bleed.

Never wanted sweet and gentle,

It's the thorns and not the rose,

That break down my defenses,

Until I

Shake, shake, I tremble and I shake,

My sweat is slick and dripping.

I'm savoring each ache.

Wrap your pain around my around mybody, my defiance, and my mind,

And then just take.

Photography by JoeOppedisano

http://jouncensored.blogspot.com/

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Patchwork by Rylan Hunter

2011-04-06T23:05:00.000-04:00

Patchwork

You only see me when he hurts you.

A shoulder for you to lean on, a warmplace for you to hide.

You rage and you despair and youeventually blame yourself.

He sends gifts.

Funny how he always seems to know whereyou'll be when he sends them.

When was the last time you were able tolook me in the eyes?

Whole body, broken in all the worstplaces.

You cry, I ache, he takes.

And as he consumes you more and more

I fade away.

Photography by J Cassoni

www.jcassoniphotography.com

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Alone by Alex Anderson

2011-03-29T21:30:00.000-04:00

Aloneby Alex Anderson

Dedicatedto Rylan Hunter

Iwalk alone.

Ienjoy the solitude.

Thedeafening silence within and without echoes through my soul. It energizesmy mind and reawakens my senses. I am like a coastal redwood soaring overthe forest or the highest mountain in a snow-capped range.

Lonelinessbrings no fear because I have myself. I am myself. And I am strong.

Iwalk alone.

Sothat I may walk with you.

Photographyby Greg Brown

http://www.gregbrowndesign.com/

One And One Equals One by Rylan Hunter

2011-03-29T21:25:00.000-04:00

One And One Equals One

I know all about alone.

Alone smells like a musty room thathasn't seen daylight or had open windows in forever. The air is heavy and alayer of dust covers every exposed surface, but the dust is better than notouch at all.

Alone tastes like salty tears when youdon't even know you were crying until you lick your lips and realize the flavorhas changed. Crying by accident is the only way you can cry because knowingabout it first only makes the taste that much more bitter.

Alone sounds like static. It's not sobad at first and even kind of comforting, but then it seems like it gets louderand starts to drown out other noises until all you can hear are the locustsdescending on your body while your ears ache for even the sound of one voice toshatter the isolation.

Alone looks like heavy fog. You stareso hard and think you see shadowy figures that are just out of reach, butnothing solid materializes. The nothingness slides and shifts and suffocateseverything in its path until you sink to the ground, clutching at your chest.

Alone feels like ... you.

Why do I feel more alone when I'm withyou than when I'm alone?

Photography by Chris Knight

http://www.chrisknightphotography.com/

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Watching You by Rylan Hunter

2011-03-26T22:14:00.001-04:00

Watching You

Who said you were free?

You rubbed against me, you restrainedme, you marked me.

And now you walk away?

I'm curious to know why you thought itwould be that easy to take what you wanted from me without consequences.

Find someone younger?

Or was it just the conquest and not thehappily ever after that you wanted?

I'm in your head and in your skin andin your life until I choose to let you go.

I will never let you go. I will neverlet you go. I will never let you go.

I'll be there every time you think yousee movement in the shadows.

I'll be the creaking sound you hearlate at night as you fall asleep.

The breathing on the other end of thephone?

Me.

You chased me until you caught me.

Now I'll never let you go.

I'm coming to see you ....

Photography by Sylvain Norget

: www.butportraiture.com

: http://theunknownproject.finegallery.net/

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Killing Time by Rylan Hunter

2011-03-23T10:25:00.000-04:00

Killing Time

You're only in the meantime, lover.

Forever looks very different from you.

I like the way you taste, but I don'tcrave you.

Your voice is deep and husky, but itdoesn't make me shiver.

You don't bring me to my knees.

It really isn't about trying harder,lover.

You make me groan and clench and try tocatch my breath.

You don't make me squirm.

You're a warm fireplace and not asearing flame.

No need for the pain I see in youreyes.

I told you from the beginning.

You'll never be forever.

You're only in the meantime.

Photography by ChrisKnight

http://www.chrisknightphotography.com/

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Inside Out by Rylan Hunter

2011-03-20T19:55:00.001-04:00

Inside Out

Weary

Stepping up, climbing, deciding,struggling, existing.

How can I define us?

You break me down, take me apart, turnme inside out.

You give me a safe place to fall.

Obeying, listening, crawling, serving,living.

My insanity lies in the chaos of thisworld where my public face is a frozen smile of confidence.

Exhaustion

You make me bleed, you make me scream,you fuck with my mind.

How could I ever give this up?

My sanity lies in your arms where mysweat and my spasms are all I have left to give you.

You piece me back together and make mebetter than I was.

Yours

Photography by GlenMitchell

http://www.glenmitchell.com/

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Owned by Nick Van Der Meer

2011-03-08T20:32:00.000-05:00

Owned by Nick Van Der Meer

Challenge me, intellectually.

Take me to your bed. Tutor me.

How do I please you? Show me.

Make me your sponge. Saturate me.

Let me be your vessel. Fill me.

Help me to learn. Teach me.

Photography by Kim Hanson

http://www.kimhanson.net/

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Owned by Russel Stratton

2011-03-06T10:37:00.005-05:00

Owned by Russel Stratton

I love you.

Let's make it perfect

Take my faith,

Compress it until it shines

Call it possession

Take our dynamic

Boil it until it's pure

Call it a role

Take my affection

Sift it through finest mesh

Call it servitude

Take my love

Distill it until it's perfect

Call it ownership

Show me the world,

Protect me from the world,

Teach me about the world,

Make my world bigger.

Let me thank you,

Let me guard you,

Let me make people jealous of you,

Let me make you my world.

Take my love

Distill it until it's perfect

Call it ownership

Photography by Kim Hanson

http://www.kimhanson.net/

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Owned by Jeff Pirrello

2011-03-02T11:20:00.000-05:00

Owned

Give me a collar,

chain me up.

Possess me forever,

and never set me free.

Take me as i am.

Consume me

ingest me

i want to be owned.

Slip into me deep;

Let me feel Your warmth,

Your texture

Your tone

Your rhythm.

Let me experience Your

Ethereal seductiveness.

And, in between Your

heavy breathing,

view fragments of

sheer beauty.

Photography by Kim Hanson

http://www.kimhanson.net/

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Deadbolt by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-26T22:01:00.001-05:00

Deadbolt

Feels like it should.

Warm. Smooth in some places, rough stubble in others.

My hand glides.

Why can't I touch you?

Every contour is familiar beneath my fingers, but I can't touch you.

You groan when you should, gasp at the right moments.

Where are you?

I tell you how I feel, say things I rarely admit to anyone.

Why can't I touch you?

Thought maybe I just needed to find the right key to open your heart to me.

I understand now.

There is no key.

Nobody can touch you.

I can't figure out which one of us loses the most as I find myself unable to pull away.

Unteachable me?

Unreachable you.

Photography by Sam Scott Schiavo

http://www.samscottschiavo.com/

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Let Go by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-22T09:12:00.000-05:00

Let Go

I have you.

Let go.

Binding your inhibitions and fears.

Let go.

Scream until your voice gives out, thrash until your body quivers, strain until I swallow every drop.

Let go.

I have you.

Photography by Daniel Skinner

http://danthedanimal.deviantart.com/

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Needy by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-18T23:21:00.003-05:00

Needy

"More?" he teased. The only reply was a low groan. The air was heavy, the moans were heavy, his weight was heavy. Wet sounds as flesh moved in and out of the tight space. "Can you take more?" he whispered. There was a pause before a damp head nodded uncertainly. Sweat-slicked thighs opened further, hips tilted up against the pillows piled beneath the stretched ass. The last two inches slid inside as the ring of muscles tightened around him and he groaned, "You did it ..." And through the dazed expression came the smile of someone discovering that the first time can already make you want more.

Photography by Kim Hanson

http://www.kimhanson.net/

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Moving In Circles by Jeff Pirrello

2011-02-17T17:44:00.008-05:00

Moving in Circles

I spent most of my life 

hiding things about myself; 

hiding who I am, what I am 

with lies that fit.  

It was always difficult to look someone in the eye

Now I’m out,

and to some it seems my 

life is in slow motion 

with my lack of experiences 

and partners.   

To me it feels like I’m on a

spinning Ferris wheel.

About to be thrown off,

sending me tumbling to the ground

skinned up and bruised.  

Life goes on

I have secrets that scared me 

when I was too young to be that old. 

Shame made me hide

until I couldn’t hide anymore.  

This time … this time
I am going to jump off the wheel of darkness

before I give them a chance

to push me off.  

It’s time I live my life on my terms.

Photography by inkedkenny
http://www.inkedkenny.com/

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Safe by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-16T23:04:00.000-05:00

Safe

Car didn't start and a tire was flat.
Kid next door whispered 'Fag' as I ran for the bus that I missed.
Presentation with sweat stains on my shirt and shadows beneath my eyes.
No time for lunch, no time for me, no time to breathe.

Until I'm in your arms.

Broke my favorite mug that you bought for me last year.
Co-worker whispered 'Loser' as I ran for the elevator that I missed.
Coffee stains on documents.
No time for smiles, no time for you, no time to breathe.

Until I'm in your arms.

In your arms I find a refuge from the world that wears me down.
In your arms I know I'm sheltered as you keep me safe and sound.
I can make it through the battles, I can survive the steady storm.
When I have a loving harbor in your arms.

Broken heart before you found me, so afraid to take a chance.
Past lover whispered 'Not you' as I ran for the love that I missed.
Shattered remnants were all that was left of me.
No time for thinking, no time for feeling, no time to breathe.

Until I found your arms.

In your arms I have the comfort of knowing that you'll stay.
In your arms I'll always trust you as you keep insanity at bay.
I can deal with all the chaos, I can weather any storm.
While I drift into the harbor of your arms.

Photography by Daniel Skinner

http://danthedanimal.deviantart.com/

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Winter's Heart by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-15T20:40:00.000-05:00

Winter's Heart

The sunshine in your smile will never thaw my winter's heart.

I've been cold forever.

Your fevered touch, summer heat, searing looks thrown my way.

I'm the cruelest month all year long.

You're fire, I'm ice.

You're the heat of the sun beating down on bronzed skin, slick with sweat.

I'm the frigid air brushing over pale cheeks, dotted in black with frostbite.

Burn me.

I want to be a puddle at your feet.

I have a winter's heart.

Photography by FLYFOTO
http://flyfotophotography.blogspot.com/
http://www.modelmayhem.com/1212896

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Bulletproof Valentine by Brooklyn Grey

2011-02-14T20:41:00.002-05:00

Bulletproof Valentine

Blood pumping, Heart beating, You wouldn't know.

Shield within me, Blocks cupids arrow.

Heart of steel, not ice, sometimes I don't know.

Lovers come and go.

The pain never fades, nothing ever is the same. That's

the way it goes.

Every year on this day I pray no one looks my way. No matter what I do they look this way.

At the end of the day, they have themselves to blame, their bullet bounces off my heart, each

and every day.

Phototography by Daniel D Mann

http://www.modelmayhem.com/danieldmann

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Perspective by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-14T15:40:00.014-05:00

Perspective

It isn’t what you think.

I’m not walking away from you.

Breaking it down to something so simple would be easy, but it wouldn’t be true.

Leaving you behind makes this about you.

Stepping onto a new path makes this about me.

Selfishness is in the eye of the beholder.

If you follow me, you’ll lose your way.

This path is taken.

Photography by Greg Brown

http://www.gregbrowndesign.com/

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Feels Like Penance by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-12T21:50:00.000-05:00

Feels Like Penance

Holy Mary, Mother of God ....

I'm so tired of being alone and I keep hurting myself over and over in my need to be loved or held or even just know the familiar touch of a hand in mine. Is this a test? I've done nothing but study loneliness for my entire life now and I'm ready for my finals. This is just too hard.

.....pray for us sinners ....

I didn't even know the last name of the guy last night that only stayed in my bed long enough to grind out his pleasure into my ass before rolling over and slipping out the door. I didn't know his first name either, but he seemed nice. Or maybe it was the self-medication.I don't want to die alone.

.....now and at the hour of our death.....

When is it my turn to know the ache of loving someone so much that growing old with them seems the best thing I could ever do? Our faces worn and lined with wrinkles as we stand there with our sagging skin and visible veins and all we see is perfection. He would be mine, I would be his. Please don't let me leave this world alone.

Amen

Photography by Greg Brown

http://www.gregbrowndesign.com/

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Mixtape by Brooklyn Grey

2011-02-05T07:08:00.000-05:00

Mixtape

The way you touch me, The thumping of your heartbeat.
You make me want to skip a beat.

Nothing stops me. Your heart brings me to places I could not see.

The music with in me plays
like a drum beat.

You set my heart free with that soaring club beat.

Dance with me, release me..

Our love is the mixtape to my heart.

Photography by FLYFOTO
http://flyfotophotography.blogspot.com/
http://www.modelmayhem.com/1212896

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Stoned by Rylan Hunter

2011-02-01T19:10:00.000-05:00

Stoned

Tired of thinking.

Breathe in deep and drift away.

Let the world disappear as the edges turn gray and I drift away with the pain.

His crime doesn’t matter.

His blindfold is not for him, but for the cowards who don’t want to look into his eyes.

Overwhelmed with choosing right from wrong.

Who gets to decide?

I can see the numbing peace that beckons to me as I take another breath.

Circle of hate, circle the prey, circle the moment that has him trembling with fear.

His heart races and he hears the shouts that condemn his soul.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Rage triumphs reason until it’s nearly extinct and I watch the madness of those we elect, others select, those we despise.

Ignorance truly is bliss.

He feels the first one hit him and knows that it’s begun.

Already … he wonders how long before it ends.

Inhale my descent into nothing.

I want to escape a world I can’t understand.

There’s a fear in me that those who do understand are even more lost than I am.

Gray with specks of pink, splatters of red, rivers of blood.

He lost count when he lost consciousness, just before he lost his life.

Tired of thinking.

He grows cold.

Breathe in and drift away.

He was chased from existence.

Let the world disappear as the edges turn black and we drift away with the pain.

Photography by Rudyard Yap

www.rudyardphotography.com

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Miss Match by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-31T22:38:00.001-05:00

Miss Match

My mother says God doesn't make mistakes.
People do.
She also says there's a first time for everything and I'm thinking maybe she knows deep down it's me.

There's a girl on our street who gets bullied a lot because she's fat.
I wish I could be her.
Underneath all the extra layers, she still has the right parts.

I'm not puppy dog tails.
I'm defective.
I'm the greatest spy who ever lived with a lifetime pass to the boy's bathroom.

If it's what's on the inside that counts, then why doesn't my outside match?
I'm not gay, I'm not straight.
I'm not him.

On the inside, I'm everything nice.
I get to check the F box.
There are no extra parts.

So if God doesn't make mistakes, then I just want to know ...
Who made me?

Photography by Terry Smith
http://www.americasfinestkids.com/

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Who's Life Is This Anyway? by Jeff Pirrello

2011-01-30T00:44:00.000-05:00

Who's Life Is This Anyway?

Who do you thank
when finally something starts
to go your way,
and you’re so used to things being fucked up
that it takes you totally by surprise?

And can I complain to them
for not being there
for what seems like 99%
of the rest of my life?

Just who are you, Fate?
A concept?
An organization?
An idea?
Show yourself.

Or is it God?
Or a God.
A God that is in charge of a list
that I happen to be on.
Like a waiter’s station of tables
that I happen to be sitting at.

I’ve looked at this menu
and you always say the same thing,
“Out of that.”

No tip for you.

Not this time
Not this life

Or is it Karma?
What goes around
comes around.

You only get what you give

Some days you eat the bear;
some days the bear eats you.

You’re a sanctimonious one,
Karma.

Or is it myself?
I only have
myself to blame
for all the bad
negative
destructive thoughts
that bleed into my daily life.

You made your bed
Now lie in it

Taking responsibility
has never been
a strong suit of mine.

With goals written down,
promises made,
and lies kept at bay ...
I will only have
myself to thank
when I make it
to you someday.

Photography by Sam Scott Schiavo

http://www.samscottschiavo.com/

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Adding Things Up by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-25T21:37:00.000-05:00

Adding Things Up

Can you remember?

Who smiled first, who made the first move, who risked it all?

You worked so hard to make me laugh.

I tried hard not to.

You were all wrong.

Wrong age, wrong location, wrong everything.

I can't remember when it was suddenly so right.

The first time I stared at nothing and thought about you.

Hearing someone say your name and feeling my heart race.

Wondering if you were trying to make anybody else laugh.

Can you remember who we were before we were we?

I can.

We're still you and me.

But when you add it all up ... together, we're more.

Photography by Picsessions

http://picsessions.blogspot.com/

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A Man Is Made By His Scars by Russell Stratton

2011-01-22T09:30:00.000-05:00

A Man Is Made By His Scars

"A man is made by his scars. Go on, show me yours”

I point at my arm
"Oil burn. Cooking for a friend, I spilt the roasting tray."
"No, deeper."

I peel back the outer layer and point to my deltoid
"Dancing, throwing my former lover in the air so he could do a somersault."
"No, deeper”
I peel back another layer and point to the back of my mind.
"Being in my brother's shadow. Constantly trying to step out of it."
"No, deeper."
I peel back my last layer and point to the very core of my soul.
"The first time you laid eyes on me. I don't think it'll ever go away."
"I love you."

Photography by Chris Knight

http://www.chrisknightphotography.com/

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Home Is Where The Hell Is by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-21T11:41:00.001-05:00

Home Is Where The Hell Is

Home is clean sheets and welcome mats.

I live on dark streets.

Home is a pristine shower with white towels and blue water in the toilet.

I live in filth with dirty skin.

Home is an antique clock that still keeps perfect time.

I live by the seasons.

Home is a yard where symmetry reigns supreme and poisons keep away the undesirables.

I live in chaos.

Home is a belt buckle that matches designs flayed into my skin.

I live with the scars.

Home is where the pretty hides the stench of hate and pain and shame.

I live among the ugly who understand.

They say you can never go home again.

I pray that's true.

Photography by Terry Smith

http://www.americasfinestkids.com/

http://americasfinestblog.blogspot.com/

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Release by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-19T22:13:00.000-05:00

Release

I know they're in there.

Whispering inside my mind and giving me thoughts.

You're nothing.

Thoughts that make me want to hurt someone.

Sometimes the whispers are angry shouts.

Kill them!

If I listen, will the voices go away?

Or will they get louder and louder because they know they have control?

Nobody wants you.

I see people talking to me but I can't hear them over the whispers.

I pretend I do.

They want to kill you!

I can't hear you, I can't hear you, I can't get away ...

If only someone else could hear what I hear.

I know they're in there.

Photography by inkedkenny

http://www.inkedkenny.com/

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If by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-15T08:25:00.000-05:00

If I think too much, I hate me.

If I look too closely, I see the shards.

If I listen too hard, I hear the screams.

If I drink enough, I might survive.

If I close my eyes, I might not cringe.

If I stay very still, I might fade away.

If I hold my breath, will my mind turn off?

If I swallow pretties, will my nightmares end?

If I wish hard enough, will I cease to exist?

If only.

Photography by Antony Crossfield

http://www.antonycrossfield.com/

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Breakdown by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-13T16:48:00.000-05:00

Breakdown

Struggle

Fighting the knots of nothing

So tired

Running away from everything

Darkness falls

Bleeding into reality

Pleading to escape

My skin.

Photography by Ian Hemingway

http://retro-grade1.deviantart.com/

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Apple by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-04T08:56:00.000-05:00

Apple

One phone call.

It only takes one phone call and for an evening he belongs to me; he is my temptation. He always arrives with a shy smile, damp hair from a recent shower, and smelling only of soap and water. That's when the doors begin to swing shut inside my mind. I have to close them. The self-loathing and shame would gnaw on me relentlessly if I didn't.

He stands still as I approach him and I can hear the slight hitch in his breath when I hold his jaw firmly in one hand and just look at him. His eyes meet mine because he knows I want to see where his thoughts are, but it's not easy for him. I can feel him shifting in place and then a dark flush creeps up his neck and moves over his cheeks. The skin grows warm beneath my touch. His eyes then begin to water from trying not to break the gaze and then, when he can no longer take it, he bows his head. Is he offering submission or is he afraid I might see something in his eyes that contradicts the illusion? The door to that question closes quietly.

I've never had a lover pay so much attention to my needs. Words aren't even necessary when he measures every breath I take with a look that makes me feel like nobody else exists for him. His hands are slow and careful while they unbutton, unsnap, undress me. I know I'm not the young man I once was, but the appreciative words he murmurs leaves me believing I'm perfect in his eyes. He has these little rituals that I can't seem to forget about when I'm supposed to be making love to my wife. The small bites he leaves on my hipbones. The way his tongue circles everything in its path ... my nipples, my balls, my cock. He kisses me there, you know. One kiss right at the tip before licking away any fluids that might be there and then sucking me in between his lips that still have the color that's long faded from my own. When I tug on his hair, he knows what I need and scoots forward. He smiles at me as he puts in one ... two fingers, but the third one is always mine and it rests inside his hole alongside his own fingers as we stretch him out together. I smile back at him and wonder if anyone else has the privilege of sharing these rituals. Does he give others the same concentration? The same adoration? That's another door I need to keep closed.

With my hands on his hips and his on my shoulders, he rocks forward and then carefully eases his way back with one hand then reaching and guiding me into him. The rings of muscle slowly pull me in and even though his breathing is uneven, he never stops giving me this dreamy look that makes it so hard not to just thrust up over and over as hard as I can because I fucking need him so bad. I don't though. I want to make this last as long as I can. My rough hands run up and down his smooth skin. I can smell sex in the room and sweat and we move together in a rhythm all our own. He doesn't mention the wrinkles beginning to form at the corners of my eyes. I don't mention the cheeks that look as if they hardly ever need to be shaved. His tongue darts out, pink and wet to catch a drop of sweat from his upper lip while he rides me and I don't want to close my eyes even though I'm getting so close. The flushed skin, the full cheeks, the moans that make my insides snap to attention. My palm flies over his dick and his hands dig into my skin and he comes first because he knows that's also something I need. His muscles clench around me and I finally let myself go completely and the things he says to me as I finally spill are sweet and filthy and perfect. And then he laughs because he doesn't seem to know what else to do with his feelings ... and I wonder to myself just how old he really is. He promised me he was legal and yet, when I catch him in unorchestrated moments like this with his head tilted back and the hallmarks of youth dictating his aftermath ... I have to wonder. Until he smiles at me, and I quickly slam that door shut.

He never leaves right away and I'm grateful for that. It would remind me that he doesn't really belong to me after all. We talk about nothing, we share food and laughter, we are lovers for just a few more moments; until our time is up once more and he gives me one last kiss as he clutches several bills in his hand and then he is gone.

I close the door, but I know that one will open again.

It only takes one phone call.

Photography by Daniel Skinner

http://danthedanimal.deviantart.com/

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Killing Frost by Rylan Hunter

2011-01-01T21:00:00.000-05:00

Killing Frost

Icy smile.

Cold, cold heart.

Draw you in with warm words.

Fevered touches.

Heat.
Closer ... closer ... closer.

Penetrate my mouth, plunge into my body.

Leave my heart alone.

Lest I drive an icicle through yours.

Photography by David Fallu

HTTP://SECRET-ASYLUM.NET

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Fixer-Upper by Rylan Hunter

2010-12-30T17:26:00.001-05:00

Fixer-Upper

Years of neglect and abuse had me falling apart.

Deterioration on the inside, dilapidation on the outside.

Crumbling.

You saw something in my foundation and rolled up your sleeves.

A splash of color in my cheeks, a coat of armor on my strength.

Repairing wounds, restoring faith, renovating my life.

Handyman.

When there was nothing left to fix, you moved on.

So did I.

No need to go back on the market.

You taught me well; I can make my own repairs now.

I am the new owner.

Photography by FLYFOTO

http://www.modelmayhem.com/FLYFOTO

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Watcher: Christmas 4 by Rylan Hunter

2010-12-25T08:13:00.002-05:00

Watcher: Christmas 4

Please let me be alone.

I'm not stupid so I know how this whole thing goes and having one more freak show up could have me turning into the next Paddy Olson. I know I'm going to be forced to see the future and unless it involves Brian bent over the closest piece of furniture and screaming my name, then I'm really not all that interested. I'll settle for having Lonnie kneeling at my feet though. I think I'll have him do that the next time I visit him just to see how he handles it.

The clock chimed again and I glared around the room, just daring something to appear. I probably looked paranoid, but those who might be watching me at that moment had no business spying on me anyway. Sometimes it seems like the whole world is mental and it's people like me that get stuck watching out for those likely to snap and now I find out my mother's membership has been accepted for the Crazy Brigade which is pretty damned unfair to me since I'm the one that has to pay the dues. I can't monitor two neighborhoods at one time when they're so far apart. Could she be any more selfish?

As the last chime hung in the air, my next uninvited guest showed himself, but this one had a flair for the dramatic with a glowing light wrapped around him. I didn't care; it was better than maggots or dangling intestines. And anything was better than having to see Sammy.

"I get it," I said. I walked over to the fireplace and stoked the flames. "I'm supposed to learn and change and be the shining example rather than the scary lesson." He said nothing and I pulled a piece of lint from my shirt and tossed it into the flames. In spite of the fact that no time was passing, I was becoming exhausted and no longer in the mood for Sammy's unoriginal idea of revenge, although I had to admit being impressed that he knew anything at all about Dickens. I pointed to the blazing fire. "If you want to take a shortcut home and just forget all this, I promise not to say a word."

He remained silent and that, frankly, was nothing short of rude. I was giving him a chance to get off work early and he was ignoring me! Just as I opened my mouth to remind him just who the important one was in this little drama, I heard my own voice already speaking from behind me.

"Strip."

I spun around and stared in shock at how much hair I had lost! Not to mention the fact that the person standing before me and pulling his clothes off was Brian.

Brian wore a thin cotton shirt and loose khaki pants. His hair was pulled back in a long tail down his back and there was a look on his face that I had never seen before. Knowing. Brian's hands were slow and teasing as he pulled the shirt up and over his head. His eyes were dark and I saw a very faint smile pulling the corners of his lips upward. He reached down and tugged on the fabric belt that held his pants up and when the knot came loose, Brian ran both of his hands over his chest while the pants slid down over his thighs before collapsing at his feet. His left hand reached back to ease the band of fabric from his hair and a river of black silk fell partially over his face when he shook his head. My angel was still beautiful.

The older me licked his lips in a way that made me wince and promise myself never to make that a future habit. I watched them and waited to see my dreams being played out, so I have to admit to being puzzled when I watched myself hesitate before pointing to the arm of the easy chair with the decorative wood accents. "There."

Why was I acting nervous? Obviously my charm and ability to coordinate my outfits perfectly had won Brian over and he had already shown his interest by being naked in my very own living room. People don't get undressed in front of other people unless they desire them or they're getting ready to see the doctor. I'm not a doctor.

I stepped closer to get a better view while my other self did the same. Why the fuck wasn't I stripping my own clothes off and showing Brian just what he'd been missing? I looked at my face and saw sweat dotting my forehead. Beyond the fact that sweating before you have sex is disgusting, I noticed that I didn't really seem to be enjoying myself. Brian stretched himself over the padded arms of the chair and then moved his feet in opposite directions until he was completely exposed.

He looked over his shoulder and murmured, "All yours."

Mine. Except ... mine after half my hair was missing and I apparently thought fucking my angel was something to get agitated about. Even though I was pretty sure nobody could see or hear me, I couldn't help yelling, "What the hell are you waiting for?! If you fucking blow this, I'll - "

I closed my mouth abruptly when I saw that the other me was finally moving closer to him. Did I really walk like that? Another thing to work on later.

There was a wet sound as I watched myself spit and then rub the make-shift lubricant over the pink, puckered skin that encircled Brian's hole. Then one finger slipped inside and Brian shifted slightly and moved his hips back to take more. I could actually feel the steady increase in my heart rate as I watched and, shuffling closer, I caught myself licking my lips. Fuck! I really did do that! I saw ample amounts of Blistex in my future.

Brian's shoulders tensed up and I saw that he now had three fingers inside of him. My voice sounded unfamiliar when I heard myself whisper to him, "You like that?"

The earlier composure seemed to be slipping and Brian's eyes looked uncertain before he hesitantly nodded. Judging by his sharp intake of breath and the pained look on his face, he wasn't exactly being honest. Then again, judging by the blank look on my face, I didn't seem to really care, which made no sense. This was a moment that should have been accompanied by bugles and drumrolls with confetti falling all around us. Instead, I only heard my other body saying, "Play with yourself."

"What?" I snarled at myself. "You've been wanting to touch that cock while Brian was actually awake for years now and you tell him to play with himself?" I was practically spraying spittle in my own face in my fury. "Just exactly when did you lose your fucking mind?"

Frustrated, I looked over at Brian who had brought one hand down and was awkwardly trying to stroke himself. I tried to help him out with that, but everything I tried to touch was the same as trying to hold air in the palm of my hand and I nearly fell over in my efforts. Maddening! What the hell was going on here? Brian moved his hips a little as he jerked off while my other self held him down with three fingers in his ass and all I could do was ... watch.

That's when I saw it.

My left hand reached to the back pocket and pulled out a wicked looking knife with a blade that looked sharp enough to slice Brian into a pile of bloody ribbons. Why? I might have considered the fun of cutting his clothes off of him, but Brian was already naked and I certainly wasn't going to destroy my own clothing, was I? I watched the knife hover as my arm was drawn back and before I could make sense of what my eyes were seeing, the blade was buried between Brian's shoulder blades and my right hand fucked him faster as Brian let out a strange gasp. No!

My hands suddenly flew at my other self but there was no connection with solid flesh. I turned and ran to the glowing guy in the corner.

"You're just going to stand there while I kill Brian?" I screamed at him. "What kind of fucking angel are you?"

His voice was like warm maple syrup. "It is not my place to interfere with what has not yet happened."

"Hello?" I said. "Interfering before something bad happens is pretty much the best time! Interfering after is like pulling your pants down after you take a shit instead of before. Useless."

"I do not have the power to change this," he said.

I turned around and saw that my arm had yanked the knife free and was just bringing it down again and the muffled sound was breaking my heart. My angel!

Brian's body jerked with the second thrust of the knife and I saw his hands clawing at nothing and fine tremors began to shake his body. He was already dying; even I could see that and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was only the watcher.

Tears began to soak my face as I stood there helplessly and I shuddered to hear the squelching sound of the knife being pulled out once more. The vacant look on my face was terrifying to me, but the impact of the final blow brought a crushing pain into my own body. Brian's limbs stiffened and then with a low groan and a sigh....he melted against my easy chair with the decorative wood accents now splattered in crimson. And then, he was gone.

I could hear the ragged breathing in the room and then the click of a door before it squeaked open. Silent sobs shook my own shoulders as I slowly turned to look and there, coming closer, was my mother. Her face was lined with wrinkles now and smiling with approval. She looked at Brian and then at the bloody man standing over him and whispered, "What a good son you are."

Alone.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked around my living room to see that I was, once more, alone. Everyone else was gone and the blood was no more than a stained memory in my mind. Trembling all over, I sank down on the loveseat. There was no fucking way I would ever sit in my favorite chair again. My mind raced as I thought over all I had seen and I knew there was a lesson there for me, but what? Why would I kill Brian and why would I ever do anything to please my mother?

Were the freaks telling me I might end up like her? How? She's a crazy old bitch who pokes her nose in everyone's business and tried to run my life. I'm nothing like that. I care about people. I care about my neighborhood. And I care about Brian.

There was only one way to be sure I never became the monster that brought me into this world.

****

I slept most of Christmas Day. It was nearly late evening before I finally stumbled into the kitchen and began to make a cup of tea, but I could see it was going to be a crisp, clear night with stars shining down on this holiest of days. As I set the teapot on the stove, I smiled and looked out the window. The full moon shone bright on my newly extended patio. I can't wait until the barbecue is built. I might even invite Brian over.

He spends too much time alone

Author's Note:

Happy Holidays and thank you to everyone who takes the time to read APL or Writer's Consortium. Thank you, even if you only click on to see the beautiful and amazing photography that the photographers have generously given both sites permission to display. I'm in awe of the talent I work with and the readers I work for. If you're spending this holiday with someone you love, take a moment to be sure they know how you feel and be ready to receive that love in return. If you are spending the holiday on your own, then please remember you're in good company as there are many of us doing the same and my wish for all of us is contentment in our lives, no matter what the situation. Often, what I write comes from all of you. I listen to you; I hear you and your voices aren't just random words that crossed my path. Your pain wasn't as solitary as you thought and if you read something in my writing that spoke to you, there's a good chance that's because you spoke to me first. Over the past few months I've seen the worst of people, but I've also seen the best of people. The bruises left by angry words rarely fade, but if you learn to truly listen to each other, you'll see that those leaving the bruises are often the most broken of us all. I can't fix the world although I wish I could, so instead, I'll keep writing because if only one person reads something and feels less alone or that someone understands how they feel, well ... that's pretty much the best gift I could ever receive. Peace.

Photography by Daniel Mann

http://www.modelmayhem.com/danieldmann

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Watcher: Christmas 3 by Rylan Hunter

2010-12-24T10:46:00.002-05:00

Alone.

I blinked once or twice as I looked around my living room at the fire still crackling and my bell waiting for me to turn the movie on. As much as I hated to admit it, my earlier theory about the bad dream and the seasoning was beginning to look less and less likely. There was something strange going on and I planned to get to the bottom of it ... right after I had a shot of vodka.

I went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Chopin from the freezer. I poured it into a small Dixie cup because actually owning a shot glass would mean I'm a frequent drinker and that's just not true. I do have wine with meals and there are seasonal drinks to celebrate each holiday like my Columbus Day Cocktail, but I wouldn't say I abuse alcohol in any way. I'm definitely not like the late Paddy Olson from down the street. He used to stagger all over the place and his hands always shook. We could never understand him when he would slur his words. I left several articles on alcoholism for him in his mailbox and even tried to get someone from AA to make a home visit but they never did. When he died, we found out he wasn't a drinker at all, but had suffered several small strokes that progressively got worse each time. That's not the point though. I'm just saying I don't drink enough to look like I drink all the time. Understand the difference?

After a few moments to gather my thoughts, I headed back into the living room only to discover I had been robbed. That was the only explanation for the fact that my home was now completely empty and cold while the perverted thief stood with his back to me and looking out the window. I watch the news so I know about the crime rates, but this was fucking Christmas eve, for Christ's sake! Is nothing sacred?

Fueled by liquid adrenaline, I called out, "You've taken a wrong turn on the way to Whoville! I want my fucking things back!"

He turned around then and I was sorry that I had said anything at all when I took in the sight of my newest guest. He had looked fine from the back. Very fine, in fact. The opposite was a different story and I don't just mean he was unattractive. His face was okay, but what really detracted from the entire picture was the jagged and gaping hole in his abdomen with loops of intestine bulging out. Tears fell in nonstop waterfalls down his cheeks even though he didn't look like he was crying. Someone had written Saved in blood across his chest. If that was what saved looked like, I think I'd rather take my chances and be left to die.

His voice was as thin as cheap toilet paper and just as fragile. "Please."

I was wishing I had used a bigger Dixie cup. I'm no coward but three corpses in one night was really beginning to shatter my nerves. I took a step backward and turned around which was a mistake because when I faced the other way, he was suddenly right in front of me and I think my hand brushed against something that used to be inside of him. Before I could recoil, he had a tight grip on my wrist and we were gone.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that we were once more in my mother's house but the Christmas decorations and the newspaper on the coffee table told me that it was still Christmas eve. I hadn't been to visit my mother in a few years because taking that much time away from my responsibilities would be ... irresponsible. It was somewhat disconcerting to see that my mother had become a slob during my absence. There was a heavy layer of dust on everything and the clutter was inexcusable. The worst part, though, was discovering that my mother had obviously been lying to me. Judging by the stacks of newspapers, she hadn't been recycling at all!

When Gutless beckoned to me, I turned away from the mess and followed him toward the kitchen. What I saw took my breath away.

Why? What could possibly drive my sometimes normal mother to kill someone and why would she leave so many filthy dishes everywhere for anyone to see? I watched as she knelt at the feet of the body and attempted to clean up the pools of blood. I didn't understand any of this. Had someone broken in and then died in her kitchen? The bloody carving knife offered a different explanation but why would my mother need to do something so heinous? I crept closer and saw the flaps of skin laying open on the lower abdomen and the coils giving me a teasing glimpse. Sure enough, as my eyes scanned further up, I saw that the word Saved was written there in blood. Now I knew why Gutless was endlessly weeping; he was still new to being dead. That still didn't tell me just exactly why my aging mother had taken up a new hobby. I turned to the ghost beside me with a questioning look in my eyes and he brought one red-stained hand up and lightly placed it on my forehead.

Images.

Snapshots were driven into my mind as if they came straight from the last memories of Gutless ... one after the other. He was on his hands and knees. I somehow knew it was him even with his stomach intact. One hand was twisted in his hair while the other rubbed his back. I felt myself getting hard. His mouth was open in a soundless cry of pleasure while the man behind him slammed into him. My breathing sped up. He lowered himself down to rest on his shoulders and then reached beneath his thighs to stroke himself. Oh. The flesh slapped together, the skin was slick, the fists were clenched, the shadow staring in the window was ... my mother. My mother. A lingering kiss at the front door. He headed into the dark, but not alone and when she called out and he turned to smile at her with recognition, I knew my mother was doing her part to take care of her neighborhood. After he checked the non-existent problem in my mother's kitchen, I knew what would come next and I felt my stomach clench at the sight of her fist and the glint of steel arcing down. His smile melted into disbelief just before the light left his eyes. My mother smiled and I realized, for the first time, I was my mother's son.

I blinked and stared at the Dixie cup in my hand as, just like that, I had returned home. Trembling all over, I poured another shot, drank it down, and stumbled back to my easychair with the decorative wood accents. So much to think about as I stared into the roaring fire with a strange emptiness pressing in on me.

Alone.

First Photograph by Chris Knight

http://www.chrisknightphotography.com/

Second Photograph by David Fallu

http://secret-asylum.net/main.htm

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