On Their Self Destruction
and my restraint against "I told you so"
They treat the things they love like tools they shouldn't have to maintain,
replaceable until one actually breaks. Usable. Abusable,
but heartbreakingly shocking when its lifespan comes to an end.
Oil can only leak for so long before it runs out, and the engine burns itself a funeral pyre.
Philodendrons on sunny window sills wither away, and leaves yellow without water.
Their carelessness seeps into everything until empty cans scatter the apartment again.
Home-cooked meals turn to unwashed dishes, and my efforts by a hot stove don't justify their end of the deal to clean them anymore.
Subconsciously, they need all things to break eventually. They'll smash the indestructible to pieces just to prove they could.
About the Creator
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More stories from Kay Husnick and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Ohhh the unnerving revelation of time marching on. This was very good ❤️