wake up

i am standing alone, outside as the sun begins it's ascent.

the sky is still damp and dark. the air is murky. it is the most unpleasant time to be awake.
nothing good comes forth during this hour. ghosts haunt, people begin to wake up for work, the "heat of the moment" dies down and one sobers up.

but i've stood outside for such a long time. waiting. just waiting.
the hours lost no longer mean anything to me. failures and D minuses are trashed and burned.

Batman knew that both darkness and light can only last but for so long. that is why he had two identities. but even he had troubles keeping the two separate.
one must experience both and watch the light grow into dim depression.

and now, the sun must finally rise.
as its rays pierce the sky, warning the night to make way, still i stand.
waiting. watching.

black turns to purple. purple to orange. and, soon, orange to blue.

i've stood still, complacent, confused, depressed, furious and needy in this darkness for so long.
it is time to let such feelings pass like the night.

the sun is rising.

i hear my inner self asking, "what time is it?"

i let the question sit for a moment, knowing time is running short.
with closed eyes, i sigh one last time. the road ahead is no longer the easy one i've grown accustomed to walking. but now it is illuminated with the light unknown, yet, to mankind for my will and determination and desperation have been lit.

again, inner-self ask, "what time is it?" this time, they sound more distant. less close.
the journey has already begun when i reply without the usual cocky smile, or enlightened wisdom, with nothing more than simple focus,
"its time to go."

life narrative.

its been some time since the introspective question, "who am i?" crossed my mind.
but we're past that now. i know who i am.

the real question is, "how does who i am trump the challenges i go through?"
more simply put: how do i get ahead?

honestly, i regret all 22 years of my life. every last one. without exempt or exception.
and they, whoever "they" are, say that you haven't lived a full life until you have a few regrets.

but i have a full life of regrets (maybe thats why i always feel so old..)
i've made all the wrong decisions. i've loved all the wrong people. said the wrong things. so on and so forth.

the only thing worth while that i've managed to do was learn. 22 years worth of hardcore trial and error learning. thus, wisdom. or something of such nature.

i look at the mirror and i see the past.
i see past me in his roughest state. hair uncut, wispy whiskers, tired eyes.
and in the same frame, i see the me trying to get past the past me.

its a silent struggle.

i look here at these words now and see that i can no longer make the same mistakes.
i cant keep telling the same stories. i'm not tyler perry.
i am tarrance foster. thats who i am.
what does that mean? well, what does that matter?
i am who i am. and i must use what little i know to outsmart myself.

things won't happen in my favor if i don't hold the gun to the dealer's head.

so here i am. sitting in silence on my day off. wondering.

standing isn't the problem. its moving thats hard.

if anybody reads this.
hell, if anybody understands,

watch out.

signed,
a new man.
(but whats that matter?)

return.

been sulking lately. hence, the lack of posts.

but im back. my balls have re-dropped and im a man again.
22 now. oh joy.

yeah. theres your life update. if you cared.

the pictures.

my memory has gone bad.
but i remember you. not all of you but your essence.
sometimes, i see pictures of you in my head.
moments we've lived out together:

one is of you next to me on a long bus ride to nowhere. your big eyes looking at me the way they did. glowing, it feels like. in my sweathood. you were beautiful.

i remember seeing you in a bathroom, standing against the sink, staring at me, inviting me.
i remember taking that invitation.

i see you in front of me, confessing something. still with those eyes.
Jesus, i could never forget those eyes.

my memory has gone bad, but i could never...

i see you standing over my bed. me behind you. sunlight beaming inside. your chocolate skin melting into mine. i remember feeling like someone painted us there. Maybe God, Maybe satan, maybe Us.

Us.

i remember those eyes.

but i don't remember why.

ramble on

the two heavy metal balls in my hand orbit each other with, what seems like, little help from my fingers and palm. they were said to be able to help keep me calm. i was lied to. per usual.

a storm rolls in. black clouds, lightening and heavy winds. but nothing potent enough in yin to blot out the sun. they say that this storm will end the world. i'd be a fool to believe it.

"there is nothing left."
"there was nothing to begin with."
"is that what you believe?"
"isn't that what you've told me?"
"i remember saying something opposite of that."
"hence, my beliefs."
"what do you believe?" [laughs] "nothing?"
"i wish i was that naive. i believe in everything."
"thats impossible."
"i believe you."
"how can you believe me calling your beliefs impossible?"
"the same way you can believe your beliefs knowing they're impossible."
[slience]

the storm continues to lug itself closer from the horizon. it brings death with it. it takes life with it. one exchanged for the other but no refund for neither. there is no choice but when is there ever a choice? you take your hand off the table and you either fold or keep your poker face solid, knowing you hold the shittest hand at the table.

either you win or you lose. or you shoot the dealer but thats probably a tell-tell sign of losing.
either you get married or you break up.

"are we breaking up?"
"do you have verizon?"
"huh?"
"bad joke. what was the question?"
the stress balls continue to swirl
"i don't think you're a real person."
"i'm not. i'm all the best parts of all your favorite literary characters and all the worst flaws of all your most hated cartoon villains wrapped into one sloppy burrito. with no thing to drink."

no thing. no, not nothing but, yes, no thing.
one might ask: "what is the difference?"
one might reply: "no thing."

for something to be something there has to be anything of that something's nature. but if there is nothing of that nature then that something never was, making it no thing.

"there are three men behind each of the pillars behind you."
"don't insult me. they were dead before i let you fix your mouth to speak. you underestimate me to such an embarrassing degree. this is where i go on a cliche, villainous rant about this being my world and me being god, the invincible. but that'd be a lie. i am not god. i created him."

silence. and a question.
the storm is over head.

"who- what are you?"

lightening cries. and the sun pierces through all darkness, erasing it as though it had simply forgotten to turn on its "on" switch.
a loud, heavy clank rang as thunder ripped though an epiphany.

"i am, no thing."

my favorite fantasy.

rain is hitting my skin. i feel the droplets leaving small streams from my head down my face, neck, exposed chest and abs until the feeling vanishes around my waist.
the sky was clear just a moment ago but dark and ominous clouds quickly blot out the sun.

there is an ungodly fury to be found in my eyes.
teeth clenched.
fist clenched.

the ground begins to shake and small pebbles and mounds of dirt levitate.

the strong urge to scream fills my lungs but i keep my mouth tightly shut.
my short nails pierce my palms and blood streams down my knuckles.

a swirling cloud of dirt encases me.
lightening strikes in my general direction.
nothing is stable.
being within a hundred yards of my person is a taunt to death.

a battle cry rips through the heavens suddenly.
all the dirt finds its place back on the ground from which it once came.
and i am revealed.
i am floating half a foot off the ground and my hair is golden.

and then you wake up one morning to find that you're totally alone.
ones before loved have moved on and forgotten their whispered promises, remembering you only in hindsight, never forethought.

never forethought.

ones desired do not desire one with the same vigor or valor, as if these text messages could cross state boarders and reach into her pants to make her see something in you, anyway.

no little ones begging your attention, highlighting the simple curiosities of the world.

no sparkling galaxy of wonder and thought to stare into as the sun bares its horrid news of the arrival of another day.

no breath to intake
no "good morning" to be heard.
no purring kittens demanding attention
no bark of a loyal mutt to suggest its morning walk.

not even an alarm to inspire acts of greatness
nothing
absolutely nothing except for the cold, shrill touch of silence.

oh, but i have my thoughts.

life to come

its cold.

its always so cold here.

the wind nips at my bare chest and legs. 

my feet are covered with layers of what used to be closed. hands too.

my waist wears a tarp that blows in the ever blowing wind. 

my body doesn't shiver anymore.

the wind is cold but i am warm.

this mountaintop can see over everything. 

for miles and miles all that can be seen is white nothingness. 

this is solace. 

this blistering cold and unbearably white place. this is peace.

this place of ultimate understanding.

this place of total compassion.

this place of nothingness.

this place of everything.

i retreat to my cave. a fire is burning softly. it warms me gently before i go off to hunt.

there is no more meat here and one must hunt. 

earn my keep.

my instincts take over.

stepping out onto my ledge, i look for any sign of movement.

i make my way down my perch, seeing my prey.

jagged stone dagger in my mouth, spear tied to my back, rope on my waist.

by the time my feet are greeted by the snow, my prey is closer than i anticipated.

he doesn't notice me yet. he will. i am too dark to blend in, unlike him.

but i stalk him. my light figure hardly makes a sound in the snow. 

i can't let him get too far ahead of me or i'll lose him. 

so i get closer. closer. and closer still.

the spear is in my hand. the wood is rough and splintering though it has been used many times before. 

my senses have heightened. 

the cold is blistering my feet as i steady them. my arms are heavy from fatigue. 

i lift the spear above my head and use my remaining strength to launch the weapon.

a red blot pierces the white nothingness. i've hit my target.

i run to meet my spear and use the dagger to finish my task.

dragging a two ton polar bear up the side of a mountain.

in my camp, while my dinner is cooked, i look on the cave walls. 

countless markings. days. months. years. i added another one to the wall and sat back in awe.

july fourth, 2026. its been thirteen years.  

  

the downfall. pt. 1

i am no catholic. and i am no saint.

my feet were cold on the hardwood floor but not cold enough to make me move them.

so i simply sat at the foot of my bed, hands locked and resting in my lap. had i not had on underwear, this moment might have become awkward for myself. 

but my mind would even let my body wonder of anything other than the reason why i was sitting on my bed and not actually in it.

a blue night sky shone on my face. 

outside, the sky was clear. no clouds, a few stars, a moon...somewhere.

the wind howled. my knuckles cracked.

i rubbed my hands together, hoping to create enough body heat to warm my feet.

or maybe i was just nervous. antsy. restless.

"sweetheart," said the ever familiar voice of my wife, "come back to bed. what are you doing down there?"

without turning to look at her, i replied, "thinking. just thinking."

"would you like to tell the woman who took your last name, cleans your underwear and has awaken to your face for the past six years what is on your mind?"

"would i like to, no. but should i? yes."

there was a stiff silence. after a statement like that, how could one not know?

the silence lingered in the air like the gagging perfume of a dead body.

thick. heavy. unforgettable.

"please, explain, my husband."

there was no tactful way to go about this. no way to say this without the message being missed, watered down or any less hurtful, "i've been with another."

as a man with his doctorate in psychology, i can tell you how people will react to certain things. how emotions usually lead to the same response in different people. i have known this woman long enough to know how she would react to certain information. i had planned everything up until this moment, because, up until this moment, i knew how she would respond. 

but, from this moment and beyond, i could no longer speculate.

"oh, but i know, love."

with this information, it was i who was shocked.

"you do? but...but how?"

"look at you. you came home late, you refused dinner, you didn't have a glass of wine nor read your book, no jazz by the fire, nothing in your character that you've so perfectly constructed. i've been making sexual passes at you all night and you've all but rejected me. you could hardly look me in the eye tonight. i knew it the moment you walked in the door." 

"so now what?" i asked out of pure curiosity. 

"now, you come to bed. it is late, we both have things to do in the morning. there is no point in moping about what you've already done and its far to late to appeal to my emotional side. just come up here and go to sleep with me."

"you don't hate me?"

"oh please Percy. of course i hate you. i cook, clean, show you endless amounts of affection, play date with your mother as if i like the bitch and you sneak out and fuck someone else? you're damn right i hate you but what good will it do me now? i've invested too much time into this. too much effort. it'd be foolish for me to get up and break a few mirrors on your behalf. is that what you were expecting? some, irrational, illogical response that would end in one of use storming out and, potentially, a divorce? no. you won't find that here. but, then again, according to your penis, you clearly don't find much here. with that said, you're much too delusional to even still be awake."

"then, you're not leaving?"

"no, Percy. i am not."

crickets could be heard chirping their little symphony outside. 

owls "whoooo"ed as if begging me to spurt my mistress' name. but apparently, that information was now irrelevant.

my previous acts, this conversation, they had left me begging the question, "am i happy here?"

and, quite possibly, the only relevant question left, "does it even matter?"

six years of marriage to a woman with a law degree who doesn't work, what would i gain by leaving her? freedom or a new national debt. is the grass greener? or should i just water the grass i have? or will my new yard suffer the same fate as this one? 

weak from a lack of rebuttal all i could muster was, "my mother is no bitch. and she guineuinly liked you." 

and i left the room. 

change: the final chapter

i've been dealing with this issue a lot lately.

you know, being gone then coming home to find everything different.

but i'm, as they say, "over" that.

this is the internal aspect of that situation.

outward change forces inward same.

i can feel my innards shifting. 

my brain churning. 

my soul settling. 

i know i'll be in this place (this emotional sanctum) for some time.

and i'm at ease with it.

at ease, as if that's even a real phrase.

i look back. 

and i see many faces.

friends, lovers, exes, wing-men

and i look forward...but i don't see any of them there.

(there are very few exceptions)

people are like money:

they go as fast as they come 

and when you're buried, they won't be in the casket with you.

i could, quite possibly, be just in one of my melancholy funks

or introspective evaluations. 

but at 1:27 on the twenty first day of the first month of my twenty-first year of life,

i finally feel as though everything before this point has grown to be

irrelevant. 

(a day later)

cleaning my room today, i found a picture. 

when i received such picture, it held such meaning. 

it was a dictionary of emotion between the two objects in the picture. 

it has since faded into a hardly recognizable blur, one would have to know what the picture was previously of to know what it now is. 

it did not weather the storm. 

i plan on giving the picture and frame back to the person who gave it to me, along with another item i owe them, for symbolic reason. 

maybe its proof for them. maybe its closure for me.

untitled

they took off my handcuffs and took off my blindfold.

i stood before a dozen men, all with their semi-automatics pointed at me.
i've escaped many a predicament but this was one i hadn't the will, cunning and proper planning to escape this one.

the end had finally come.
but one would not run, nor scream, nor cry, nor whimper.
but i would stand tall. die with my dignity. my pride. my honor.

i stood alone. unbound.

"any last words, commander?"
"i once wrote a speech for this occasion but you aren't the men i expected to be gunning me down."
"humor us."
"you don't deserve it."
a stiff brief silence.

"any words for your family."
"tell my wife, 'mission accomplished.' but if you find her, tell her, 'mission failed.'"

"Take aim!" bastard general.
i pointed roughly and mushed my forehead, telling the traitors where to aim.

"you will remember me."
"FIRE!"



fin.

the perfect ambush.

we knew they were coming.

we didn't know how
we didn't know from where
we didn't know when
we didn't know why.

but we knew they were coming.
standing in a small, circular clearing in, what seemed to be the middle of the forest. we all stood in a loose circle with our weapons ready to fire.

there was nothing but silence.
a silence so silent, we knew something was wrong.
no squirrels. no rustling leaves.
even the wind held its breath.

suddenly, shots were fired and the ground threw dirt where the bullets had landed.
a man fell and more shots came.
it wasn't until our eighth solider fell that we realized that the shots were coming from underground.

"how'd the fuck they do that?"
"who cares?! shoot back!"

we shot. and only hit the ground.

more bullets hit the ground
but these we heard whizzing downward past our heads.
so we shot the skies.
and only hit clouds.

rustles came from the left
so we shot to the left
but got shot at from the right.

rustles came from the right
so we shot right
and got shot at from the left.

our confusion cost us many lives.
until only four of us stood.
we all shot in opposite directions
up, down, left, right.

a few of our enemies wailed in pain.
some fell
but we remained outnumbered .
another fell.

the enemy began to close in.
a bullet hit my shoulder
but i kept shooting. reloading. shooting.
reloadin- another hit my stomach.
i crouched, to reduce the pain and to keep my firing arm steady.

another ally fell.
the last tried firing in every direction in a Rambo type of manner.

"i picked good men."
she fell to a knee. then, fell over again, holding herself up with one arm.

"thank you," i said to her amidst my own gunfire.
"shut up and keep living."
i kept firing.

"La Resistance lives on, sir. Our message was heard. We live."
with her last words came another bullet. i'm not sure where it hit me but it forced me to the ground. i watched my last warrior close her eyes. she held no tears.

again, silence.
then, leaves crunching under a thousand footsteps.
they approached me.
one stooped to look me in the eye.

"how?"
he chuckled, "it won't do you any good in the afterlife."
"then why?"
"an interesting question. because we wanted to."
"just because?"
"just because."
"there is no 'just because' evil. there is no person pure of evil. you must have motives that align with evil.."
he laughed, "i am evil."

i was engulfed by nothingness.

a dream i had

i cock my semi-automatic weapon and nodded at my partner.

the elevator doors open slowly and we take aim.

we creep around the corridors of what seems to be a huge business building.

a man with dreads charges towards us and i do the liberty of stinging him with six pieces of hot led. 

"tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat" was the sound.

i remember thinking, "someone probably heard that. good."

we crept through the rest of the building searching for something and destroying any person that got within  shooting distance.

i was the primary with a MP40 and my partner with a shotgun.

on a certain level of this building, everything was painted black and the ceiling sprinklers were on. a group of individuals, whom, i'm sure, were comrades, were tied and bound to chairs. we freed them and armed them. 

suddenly, an explosion took off half of the wall facing the outside. everyone, except me, panicked. i picked up my gun and fired at whatever i thought would be behind the wall. 

and nothing was there. 

everyone began to huddle, begging for a plan. it looked like cowering to me. 

one comrade, who looked oddly like Janelle Monae (black and white tux and everything) approached me and showed me a piece of paper.

"these are the only ones left," pointing to names on the paper. most were crossed off. "i hear that these two, here, always work together. i was wondering if we could go get them together."

"Sure. that should be fine. if we make it out of here."

she smiled, realized she was smiling, stopped smiling, nodded and walked off talking to herself. planning seemingly. 

shots were fired.

we were being ambushed. 

i ran to the other side of the building where the corridor was. two gunmen were trying to keep us cornered. i fired back pushed them back into the elevator.

turning around, i saw that everyone else was following suit. 

[this is where the dream ends but..]

i gathered my brethren in arms and told them my plan:

"we have enough rope to reach a few floors below us. if we stay here they'll be shooting fish in a barrel and they're probably waiting for us on the other side of those elevator doors. so here we split up. half of us are going down that side of the building. a quarter of us down the other side. the rest through the elevator. we won't all make it and i plan to see some of you in the next life. my goal today isn't to make it out of this building alive but to get you out alive. i suggest you all keep at least one person with you at all times. and die with your finger on the trigger."

like a swinging ton of bricks.

i've been talking about how much things have changed for since i got home. 

but just yesterday did it actually hit me.

i woke up around noonish, for no particular reason. 

got dressed: Donald Trump button-up, Gap cardigan, Gap chincos, Zara trench coat and Aldo shoes. 

mapqusted my destination and departed. my reason for traveling was forced to the back of my mind by the brisk wind hitting my face through my lowered, driver's seat window and the loud, rhythmic sounds of Kings of Leon. 

i stopped at target...and mindlessly picked out two logical and semi-thoughtful gifts.

i continued for an additional 30 mins. i had gotten lost. so i went into a gas station around the area i thought i was supposed to be in and asked for directions. an old and fat white man pointed me in the right direction. [sidenote: i've never seen a problem with stopping and asking for directions. isn't that something men are supposed to hate doing? ]

i sat in my car, ate my two doughnuts and finally let the reason for my appearance fester:

my best friend since high school is pregnant. 

knocked up.

with child.

due any day.

...due any day. 

that means, no more long nights on the city streets. no more of the friendship i used to know. 

its a totally different world. 

i arrived a few minutes late to the baby shower. and the first person i saw was killa (my knocked-up friend). and protruding from her waistline was little Jade, waiting to wreak her havoc into the world.

the rest of the day, i sat in awe.

the only constant in life is: change

hell, my life has changed more in the last two years than most peoples ever will.

but this is a change i wasnt ready for. 

not so much the pregnancy, but knowing that the dynamic of most of my friendships has changed.

friends are moving on. loving, raising kids, living other lives. 

i was in such a rush to leave a life i had just established that i didn't think that coming back to the life i left would be so different. 

im not sure if im supposed to leave these friends where they are and find new ones or try to fight my way back into their lives. 

(as if fighting for friendship is really an option -_-)

i didnt count on things being so different

i didnt count on everything changing

i left vegas to come home. then got home and found myself homeless. 

the invention of religion.

day 159: the guy i share a cave with is leaving today. hes gone to tell anything he can find of this "fire" invention we found. now, i know he'll probably get all the credit but who cares? i get the cave and this fire to myself. that means no large animals and i can invite that shapely, less hairy individual over. i remember when i was the only person here. all the caves were mine. i named all the animals. everything was so peaceful. now everyone wants answers, everyone wants power, they want to do this, why not that, its so much more a hassle these days..

day 200: the man i sent with fire has returned. he says that more are coming. its a 20 day trek, unless you're on the back of some beast. or if you are some beast. maybe i can find some kind of way to make things move faster. but honestly, i don't want anymore bodies here. food is running low, attitudes are high and i miss my solitude. i found all the best gifts when i was alone. food, water, fire, my penis. everything. maybe i should sneak out and leave this less hairy one here.

day 215: well i did it. i made what i call the "wheel". it was pretty easy too. i sat up on my favorite hill with a few grapes. i was eating pleasantly, when one slipped from my hand. it ran all the was to the bottom of the hill, without stopping. so, i tried rolling an apple, a banana, a cocoanut and a person down the hill. the banana had the hardest time. the person wasn't too happy...but they weren't too hurt either. so i figured things with a generally spherical exterior have the tendency to roll. tried a few rocks and eureka! i made a few little wheels, they rolled. i, then, put holes in the middle and sticks in those holes and tied sticks to those sticks to keep them together. it wasn't big enough to hold the pet meow but it was big enough to call a success. tomorrow i start the bigger task.

day 230: well, its finished. i have made the wheel. its about three feet tall and made of stone. it can roll and carry anything without cracking. i'll make three more and attach a bamboo cart to them. some type of beast will have to pull it around.  but a more pressing issue plagues me tonight as i scribble these hieroglyphics on this wall...i have made almost every important thing on this planet. fire. wheel. but who made my materials? who made me? i can't stop this heaving in my chest; why? there has to be a great...maker. the man or beast that made us, here, right? maybe the sun did it. maybe the moon or the stars. or maybe they, too, are products of the great maker's hands. we must begin to thank this great maker for making us, even if we do not see or know if he is there. many will object to thanking nobody, many more will not understand but, thus far, i am the smartest man here and i say thank the great maker. what do we call believing in the unbelievable? faith. we will call it faith. did i make that or did the great maker make me make it? either way, thank you great maker for making me with your callused and strong hands. i wish my inventions would speak up and thank me. one day, i'll invent a talking invention so it can thank me. and they will praise me as i praise you. 

day 231: everyone is thanking the great maker as i write. they all believe. they all have faith. we all thank you great maker. will we ever know who you are? oh, and since we've started to really name things, i've decided to take the title of "Adam."

empty world.

a story of subtle depressions.

stark naked surrounded by these photographs, i remember things i had once forgot.
they say photographs take a piece of your soul.
i think that holds some truth. how else would looking at them help you relive some of those memories. those sudden moments that you suddenly forget shortly thereafter.

i have taken the souls of many. i have taken them with me. held them captive. used them for strength.

and now that i've come to return the souls to their rightful owners, they've gone awol.

so here i lie.
here i lay.
nude.
exposed.
with you.
all of you.
and this little bitty black bic.

i fight gravity and rise to my feet.
i fight disappointment and rise to my feet.
i overcome defeat and rise to my feet.

with every iota of strength in both arms, this little bitty black bic is slammed to the floor.
it explodes as lighters sometimes do.
a lot of things happen at that moment.

there was a loud crack
fire erupted using your souls as the fuel
you all scream and cry and this inferno becomes your hell.
i become the devil.
the corners of your confinement singe black and crumble into ashes
the inferno grows.
the only living soul dies along with the captured ones.

and a new man walks out of the flames.
be he phoenix, satan, jesus or nil.
or be they all, at this point, synonymous.

the pain.

sometimes, i dream peaceful dreams. 

there are clear skies with perfect white clouds. the grass is beautifully green.  animals prance around, in harmony. 

everything is calm. 

i had a dream like that tonight. but it was interrupted. 

an odd sensation crept into my body as i laid stiff and still on this queen sized mattress. from my toes up my legs, through my pelvis, abs, all the way to the very tip of my head. 

i squirm and try to shake it off but it doesn't leave. it persist. 

"stop." i groan weakly.

it doesn't. 

this happens often and i'm used to it but i often do not enjoy it. 

it intensifies. the sensation turns into some kind of pain. 

i cringe. grip and rip my sheets. i wish it'd cease, but i know it won't.

it begins to feel as though this pain is trying to rip certain things out from the inside of me.

i cannot let it. i hold on for dear life. still, drips of my soul are extracted. 

yet the pain persists. 

i stand to my feet to confront this deamon. i will not die lying down. 

it intensifies still. pulling, ripping, gouging. 

i clench my teeth, my toes grip the sheets, my brow sweats, my hands hold onto the ceiling for support.

the determination of this beast is insurmountable. 

i know i cannot win.

and once i bathe myself in defeat, the rest of my innards are released. 

my knees buckle but in my pride, i catch myself. 

i know i have died a little.

"le petite mort"

she finishes with a slurp

and i collapse.