You’re Never Alone
Ask Yourself If You Are
It’s fun to be alone.
You only complain to yourself
about the ass that you are.
Then, you realize
you’re not alone anymore.
It talks.
You talk.
It doesn’t matter.
There’s talk going on
between you and yourself.
How is it fun, then, to be alone?
We’ve never been!
There’s someone else in there,
sharing the space,
sharing our life,
sharing everything else we think we’ve got.
What the fuck?
Don’t tell me that you
don’t mind it sometimes!
You try to shut it off.
It works sometimes.
It (let’s call it It) appeared
in my sleep,
in my dreams.
I knew It wasn’t me.
It was him.
The other me.
You know.
The one who types a lot.
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munsona day ago in Fiction
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