Because whether it’s a bean smear inside of a tortilla or a meaty one in the middle of the road, it makes no difference in the end.

The toppings sloughed then plopped and sunk in the cloudy water below. Pepperoni, olives, sausage chunks, and peppers...

He’s crept inside and sewn himself into the fibers. One by one, each and every stitch is his, is his...

Looks good from here, wouldn’t you say? Albeit fuzzy...

Betcha wanna know what I’m scribbling—well, it’s the last page of this book...

The memories don’t stick, the bones that crick. The will grown tired, the body now expired....

It belonged to the English—this cuke that had spent a month in the back of my fridge, slowly each day becoming a more liquid version of itself...

Amongst the Earthen empire with all that is wild and free...

It has come to the point that communicating with you has become some sort of doltish nightmare...

So I went to the garage and found a rope. And I jumped. Because that’s what seven-year-olds do...

Horrors that stand over your bed and watch you dream, that will kiss your mouth and bed with you, whittling nightmares. In the morning you will remember none of it...

My heart quivers wildly with a will to live I will never understand...

There’s serenity in serendipity—just smooths things over. Makes things better. A better place than I am now...

The other birds feast on the bounty beneath the soil, as the lone robin stands on its own—awaiting her arrival...

Its tiny head twisting, its body shuddering in delight as it performs a proper cleaning...

Leave me for the shadows, The black ones that granted company until the end. It would be a waste to rob them this offering...

He had a French accent when he said his name, That part made her laugh. What a great mood he was in. But it was time to scrub—work the mop head back and forth—slop the putrid water over the bathroom floor...

I’ll chase after you under the sun. I’ll tackle you in the grass and we’ll roll around laughing. I’ll bring your favorite treats, we’ll go hiking in the hills, just you and me. When I’m fun...

I’ll keep strumming and never reach the end. You’ll see my fingers bleed—the blood sliding down the strings and dripping teardrops from my fingertips...

There may have been light in the darkness—if the lightbulb hadn’t fried up years ago...

What I felt for you a century ago is still inside of me, your presence in my life eons ago is still with me today. Physical cessation cannot cut these ties...

So, Freddie took his ax and chopped it off.And he was two ankles less...

There will be no pity for a plane full of sinners, on a plane to LV...

Maybe it’s a thing of the past. The problem that fixes itself...