Say Aaaah

She’ll let her tooth rot out until it reaches peak-pain and then have it removed

She’s never had rest from her teeth; they’ve brought nothing but misery. From their disorderly alignment to their susceptibility to decay.

In many ways they’ve been a reflection of her own internal rot. No matter how hard she’s swung at the blood thirsty bats of life they get a bite, draw blood, come back for more.

And the professionals say “you should take better care”, what the fuck do they think she’s been doing? Eating rocks?

Two times a day, for two minutes. futile. But the professional with a degree dishes this bullshit advice out like a condom dispenser.

Surround yourself with positive things; don’t fixate on the negative (yeah I can do that, why didn’t i think of it?)

It isn’t at all like cutting yourself really (letting the teeth rot away); the ramifications of that are not as great

She’ll probably end up with dentures before she even touches the age of fifty

If she even cares to make it there

Left handed people on average die sooner than right handed people; she hopes so.

Happy people live longer they say (if only this were true. It isn’t)

She scoops a tiny portion of toothpaste with the tip of her tongue and guides it carefully to the crater in her tooth and dumps the numbing paste into the void.

The tingle dies away; she’ll live to eat another day

But The Truth is Something Altogether Different

She dreams in clips.
A music video; she’s walking beside a stranger she loves terribly, they’re in an amusement park and laughing, on a rollercoaster and gasping.
Reaching up to the swirling sludge-puppy sky.

The sharp jabbing beeps of her alarm shock her into the deep end of her room.

Left with nothing but a headache and time running out before her boss calls to swoon into her ear his concerns and constructive bullshit, she quickly and inadequately washes up, bites into a piece of last nights pie and has her instant coffee on the go, almost spilling the black liquid down the stairs.

The sun’s too bright, the streets too loud, the walk way too hard, her clothes too close, what she wouldn’t do for a nap right now.

The blur of faces at work remind her of that rollercoaster, that stranger with a red tongue, and the foreign smile on her own face.

She pokes and prods her cheeks – hollow tombs for the flies.

Maybe it all becomes a type of drug, the lies and the ridicule of the world, and you take it all in. It does its job and you piss it out, shit it out.

The Virus of life.

Be Happy.

To Delicate Flower; As you Were Once Known

©2015 Asperganoid
©2015 Asperganoid

The Sun was a crushed pill on a cracked blue glass table streaked in white strokes of misfortune.

Fingertips tingled nostalgic.

Francelle washed up on the bed like a corpse drenched in oceanic sweat, eyes floating in a black sea of uncertainty, chaos.

She stepped over the sprawled body of Lilith

Half-conscious and drowsy and sat on a broken toilet seat.

Releasing chemical waste.

Kaffeesahne

You want me to be superhuman

-i never said

The way you look at me, the way your face turns when I do something human

-you’re imagining things

I blow my nose and you tense up, you see the contents of my drawer and you act like some juvenile from the movies. This is real life and I’m a human being same as you

-yea well…

Don’t ‘never mind’ me. Are we two grown-ups in this relationship or is this a movie with cameras and no end to your imagined action?

-i don’t think I can do this

And most things too. Enjoy your starring role.

A coin dropped in The packed Kraft Café and everybody continued where they left off when he walked out the door.
She swiped her newspaper and put on her reading glasses, sipping on some coco-Kaffeesahne

Daughter sketches

His daughter moved with the elegance of a giraffe.

She was touching ceilings before her fifteenth birthday.

Her leather notepads were covered in equations for chemical reactions that produced pure substances.

She had a black pen resting on her left ear and bought five breast pocketed shirts to keep her small black leather notepad at all times to counter her jigsaw memory.

Her incomplete Voyage without Return

Two minutes had not passed before the hot cup of coffee before me spewed gallons of steaming rose buds up the ceiling.

I withdrew myself from the scene and rummaged through the medicine cabinet.

It dawned upon me that my days may have crossed paths; monday and tuesday switching seats, so to speak.

My appointment with the good doctor behind me; the walls perspired.

Should I, pay the doctor a visit?

The idea is taboo. The anxious thoughts which follow, sacrilege.

Without any hope of sanity without my medicine; at least, not while I am conscious; the only true option is sleep.

With my marron curtains shut and the outside world abandoned; I lay in wait for that blank world which takes me so often every night.

Buzzing wings of a fly. My neighbour has a fly hovering over her trash can.

There’s a bus stop sign upside down on the ceiling of my toilet.