I fear, the everyday always.

Always, thoughts parading through my head
Following choreographed patterns of Ideas

Always, the same hopes and aspirations
Thwarted by the same fears.

The only window in the room was adorned with second-hand curtains that once belonged to an antique store. Maybe in a different lifetime, a different story, they were beautiful. Now, only thin fabric hung limp from the plastic frame, drained by years of exposure to the sun. Pale sunlight filtered in lazily, exposing individual dust particles in their mischievous dance about the furniture.

From the coffee table littered with bits of memorabilia, to the neglected corners filling up with lint, the air hung heavy with sighs. Two bowls which perhaps belonged to some beloved family pet lay discarded on the floor. Bits of dried food surrounded the area and grains of evaporated water covered the porcelain. No other signs of an animal could be traced throughout the house, and no patter of loyal paws could be heard.

On the couch by the coffee table sat a man. Hunched over and deep in though, he leaned so close to the scattered photographs his nose almost brushed the fading ink. Long unkempt hair hung over his tired eyes like a curtain. From his hands it could be determined that he was well cared for as a child. The lack of calluses and trimmed fingernails indicated that he was sheltered from many a bad habit - if one were to find him as accompaniment for dinner, surprise would not be had to see proper table manners. Even his namesake, Kevin, which meant “kind and gentle”, indicated hopes of parental pride.

Kevin looked back at his old achievements. His past hopes and dreams. The frat house days were he knew wonderful things could happen, did happen. With a sigh he let the memories escape like gas helium from a punctured balloon. Deflated, he stood up and left the yearbook deserted on the table next to his wine glass. Caught in a momentary dilemma, he looked forlornly at the beverage for a moment before brining it with him. Holding a critic’s eye, he surveyed his house and all that he owned to his name. Reminders of past visions and thwarted splendor lurked behind every corner, stalking him like a wounded animal. He could sense the presumed scorn and disappointment creeping upon his convoluted conscious.

Disgusted, he poured the wine down the sink. For a brief moment he struggled, caught in a tug-of-war of self conflict before serving himself another glass. Caving in, he drank with a greed that was not his own. Staring at the red liquid as it seemed to pour itself into his glass. It pumped through his veins as his life’s blood. Bringing with it his parties, his failure, and his inability to live a normal life. Always questioning himself for he could never trust his judgment, when he could not even put down a single glass.


Once always a dreamer Kevin had never been folly enough to actually believe his dreams. Somewhere deep in his core he sensed an able ness, a self capability that led him to continue trying despite years of discouraging results. He always strove for better; to fix himself, to improve. In himself he never saw perfection but a canvas of an ever changing work of art slowly becoming more and more recognizable as something beautiful, but never complete.


A door opened and in walked his petit wife, Delilah. Her expression changed as she saw what he held in his hand. Knowing how difficult this was for him, she walked over to him and placed a shaky hand on his shoulder, wondering what happened to the man she fell in love with. He had done nothing wrong; Once so full of hope and compassion for a bright future, not only his own but the world’s. At one point, he had wanted to leave his mark upon it and had charmed her with his sweet words and passionate determination. She searched for an answer but all her thoughts fell through as if water through a slotted spoon. Looking up into her eyes, he saw that the fire she once had for him was gone. Unable to contain it, through his clenched back teeth and his thoughts of encouragement: be strong, be strong, he sang a song of defeat.


“I can’t help it”. Grey shades of uncertainty dulled the intensity of the emotions passing through the couple. She thought they could fix it, together. Together they could fail at nothing. But they did not fail, could not have failed. There was nothing for them to fail at. They simply tried and tried again; the same goal, the same tactic with the same result.  They did not fail, they simply did not succeed.


A pulse, a movement, a tremor from the bottom of her underbelly silenced them both. Messages of hope and fear pass through the connection of their eyes. Time was running out. He saw in the red bottle of spirits, his past, his present and without a glance at his wife, his future. The tenseness in the air was too much for him, the expectations of his wife and his expectations he held for himself weighed heavy on his mind. suddenly all he could think about was sleep, an escape from it all. Sleep; a fog of chronic need for rest looms over him constantly until the time comes for his mind to reprocess the everyday happenings of his life. His narcoleptic mannerisms are not generated from a lack of sleep for he slept soundly through the night. Many people just assumed his thoughts were not landed on earth and marked him as a daydreamer. And daydream he did. He often found his thoughts drifting to issues unimportant to some. Solitary by nature he seldom gets lonely but often gets labeled as shy and soft spoken. Kevin’s sleepy manner is caused from his take on life, the way he slumps and daydreams his way through everyday life in a daze unaware of his surroundings.


His sudden need for rest forced him to extract himself from the room. He paused before bringing his wine glass with him. Left alone to brood, Delilah stared at the wine bottle, the cause of it all. The destructive stone that caused the avalanche, and at the same time the beloved elixir that gives strength to carry on. These past few years had been uneventful. Marriage had not been the happy dream life portrayed on TV. With happy house wives always smiling in their pretty sun hats with their white picket fences. Kevin struggled between his job and his addiction. Coming home late, leaving early without calling her just to say hello and I love you. Not that she had done much to change any of that. Besides cleaning the dishes and tidying up their bland home Delilah did nothing but sit around all day, watching soap operas and dreaming about the life she could have had.


Always a talker and never a doer Delilah blamed herself. She looked upon herself, all her incompetence, hypocrisy and laziness. Her failure to be a person of independence, stand out, make things happen, be the kind of person other people will come to and depend on. Most of all, she hated the laziness, the habitual force that prevented her from waking up early in the morning to accomplish her goals, even the small ones. Every single goal she made one after another she broke like walking on twigs in a row, without even batting an eye. That accursed laziness that compelled her to do a job half-hearted that she otherwise would have done to her full satisfaction. She reprimanded her self-consciousness that made her silent and introversive while she would like nothing else in the world then to stand up and show everyone the wonderful being she knows, thinks… is inside of her. Her passionate hatred of everything she had come to represent compelled her into a frenzy. Warm tears trickled down her face before she even noticed they were there. Once she stated she couldn’t stop. She blamed all of her husband’s faults on herself. She was holding him down. Thinking of every possible little thing in her life that had gone wrong, she thought she must have been a terrible person. Turning her bitter energy to focus on the future, she thought of the being growing inside of her. The link between her and her husband, the incompetence, the mediocrity. It marked her years to come as a common housewife. A life of waiting for her husband to come home, watching soap operas and cleaning the house until the day she died. A living reminder of her failure to be able to depend on herself. Her ultimate failure.


Desperately, she searched for her orange tube of relief and satisfaction, a solution to her problems. She knew would not be able to sleep tonight, her lazy husband, she suspected had already gone to sleep. Tentatively, placing one sweet candy on her tongue, she gained instant gratification. The swallowing motion seemed to soothe and calm her, making the warm moisture of her tears down her face dry up and her hands stop shaking.   Savoring the feeling as the drug entered her blood stream, she placed another pillin her mouth. The feeling was not working fast enough to satisfy her need, she needed relief, now. She was unable to control herself, the idea of sweet sanctuary, a mirage of an oasis in a dessert of death, was too tempting. She routinely extracted one pea-sized capsule after the next and did not fully comprehend her actions until her finger hit the bottom of the tube, empty. She tipped it upside-down, just to be sure and nothing fell out.
The realization of what she had done did not come as a surprise to her, rather, she laughed and drank wine straight from the bottle. It felt good in her stomach. Warm and soothing, almost maternal like a mother comforting her grief-stricken child and telling her everything will be okay. She drank more. She drank as she had seen her husband drink; greedily, like never before had he ever drank in his life, a bitter old man hoping to be young again from the fountain of youth.

Suddenly exhausted, she lied down to rest and whimpered as she thought of her husband; what he had done to her, what she had done to him. The straw that broke the camel’s back, the cry of animal deception, the desperation of being cut short one too many times. Kevin was resistant because in himself he knew his own capacity, felt within him a self capability. She had no such certainty. She laughed at the irony of her own destruction. A soft, defeated laugh that turning into a sob, as she cried herself to sleep.


In the morning he found her. Sprawled on the floor like a goddess, more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Tiny shards of colored glass surrounded her head like a halo. He slowly walked over and unclenched the orange capsule from her hand. Delicately stroking and kissing her pale skin. Her abdomen had swelled and appeared bulbous and lifeless. She looked strangely peaceful. The loss of his wife wounded him greatly. She took with him his hopes for the future. She was the joy that broke up his working life. Never had he been the one to settle, to stop and recognize what he had before him. He had not accepted his life for what it was and simply lived. Always focusing on what it was he was missing instead of what he had, he never recognized his love for his wife until she was gone.  In the loss of his wife he saw a change of plans. Always the opportunist, he saw her death as a chance at new beginnings.




































That compelling force,
Of  ruthless nature
Which makes us rise, everyday

It keeps us in line
Forces us into submission,
Breaks us down, everyday

It dictates to us
What we do
And how we do it, everyday

Why dose it come
To some
So naturally, everyday

Those few
Consistently who
Succeed, everyday

Different worlds
And planes of reality
Colliding, everyday

If I break down the walls
Defy it
Change my life, day by day

Could I proceed,
Learn to succeed,
Like those few who do so, everyday