Stephanie

    Isn't it odd how the scene was cut and taped with caution, but whenever the investigators have stepped foot back inside, there were subtle things out of place? Isn't it odd how parts of themselves questioned when or if it was moved? Isn't it odd how ticks, and flicks parts of their brain saw the motions, but they have pushed it aside? Investigators with their cameras, cops with their Seduka puzzled notes, wrap the bag with the body in place. The fingerprints on each bottle does not show up on the scanned reading. The secrets fractioned between. The crashed bottle smashed against the wall. Like fine, delicate paper, the white thick eraser has ripped and washed it off. Like the chef spinning the blade of icing on the cake, the ingredients have been kept secretive.

     Apart from all the anger that aggravates, as it quickly builds up like thick tar, I have beat the tangling, twisted rope strung right out of my chest, I feel loved. I feel more love than I have ever come to know. I feel so much love rushing through my faint, poisoned, mutilated distilled bones. I feel love hugging my weak, puny, thumping heart. I feel love with the pushing, although not forced, alignment with nature, father of time. I feel the love pulsing through my veins, bulging as the colors pop and this feeling, this rush of love has cycled my heart into overdrive. 

     My adrenaline over boils as my blistering fist plasters the wall. Further beyond, the world may see and hear the raging roars, the out-bursting episodes strains my lungs, and popped my vessels hoarse. But all the while I am built in new. I am overpowered, regardless of the hard, clouded lumps that collect rocks, tightening my vocal strings, I must pull through. My arms never tire from swimming through this deep blue water. Once I am past the anger, I feel nothing inside except undying love. I have a thirst for hunger. I have a nasty desire to bite inside of the orange with the peel, as it pokes my gums and draws blood down my teeth. I have these dirty little thoughts that I'd like to tell you I turn them off, but I just enjoy it too much, and the thrill it gives. I want to stand tall in all my nakedness. I want to wear a white cotton nightgown that is ripped and revealed, I want to wear it as I walk barefooted down the hill. I want blood streaming down my neck and to feel the pain around my teeth. I want my black hair, to lay steaming flat below my shoulders, I want it wild, I want it labeled. I want to see the light shine so blindly from the moon, and I want to feel petrified from the howling's and the night crawlers, I want to hear the animal's prey for their meal, and I want to be intensified enough to feel like the hungry puppy, was hunting for me. I want to feel powerless while I sucked in the divine creatures, licking their bones, I hope it snaps into my teeth. I've got a wildly obsession and these little toys, they just aren't doing it for me. I want to crawl and bend my knees. I want you to take the breath out of me. I want to feel powerless while in other particular ways, I want to feel your suffering. I need to hear your whimpering as I grab an inch of your hair for my own collections. Add it to the coins, into the bottom of the jar with the tightly sealed lid. Add it to the helpless desires that have destructed and appointed me. Add it to the anger I feel trapped with. How could I feel love after repeated deception? My long thick black hair falls onto my naked back. I want my porcelain skin to shine along with the stars. I want the attraction build up and lay it on thick as you give it to me. I want my short thick legs to fold and unbend.  

    I have come back, and I've got one inch of my breath left. I seem to be out of sorts, I am so much unlike myself. I force my body and my brain to function in rhythm. I want to move and follow the older patterns, but everything is mazed and the corners that wasn't there before, has piled in crammed dusted bags, of garbage put into boxes. Every time I think, it sounds so loud and confusing. I am brought everywhere first, except the middle. I have been bound to the floor; my fist beats the tile with an auto pilot, zoned panic, I will not stay here forever. I'm back as a mere fraction of myself. My long black hair waves, as I am racing through the halls inside of my bloody gown. I am looking behind myself while I toss spilled needles onto the ground. I have run so fast; I am out of breath without getting that far, and my heart almost jumped out of my chest, as I passed the narrow halls of mirrors. I thought someone had caught on to my hidden codes to capture me from the escape. My bloody shaken fingerprints, stain the reflection that was not myself. My round face was replaced with defined structured, cheek bones with thick blonde hair, caramelized in natural highlights. Big brown, tearful eyes are sinking through my skin that I lived within. I have fallen to my knees and pulled my hair that was not my own, I screeched as I banged and cracked the floor. I have been locked inside, trapped within, stuck in the between and the land beneath. 

-Micah Vincent