Petroleum Jelly

Years she said. With Vaseline in her eyes. Cloudy and slick with a devastating permanence. Dimes in the washer waiting to be found. Ten more wishes I'll never get to make. Clothes on the floor looking too much like I'm still in them. Breathing in the stabs of moonlight that slither through vinyl and glass bars.

Moments that strut out the front door only to later sneak in the back. Shame. Ringing dead doorbells and listening to dial tones. The weak songs that put me to sleep when drugs disappoint. As they often will.

Just like people. Only more loyal. More human.

A lifetime. Several I think. And still trying to understand. Anything at all.

Evil? Of course. Good? Just as much so. Shit in the snow. Almost too much contrast. To see which is which.

Shaky hands open the door. Close the window. It's cold outside. It's hot within. Leaning close. For the first taste. A negative slowly developing upon her lips.

Then becomes forever. Now becomes if.

Photographs of faces. Calm tragedies occur in silence. Heard only by the deaf. The words spew in shattered ricochets of tongue. Nervous. Putty cheeks offer truth as their only confession. Ignoring every wish. She bites down.

Destroying the fountain.