The Taste of Flesh Never Grows Old.

I thought I heard something out on the back porch. I went to the door, but there was no one there. I’d been checking for days. The porch remains empty. I sleep alone. Eat alone. Drive to work alone. Movies. Working out. Talking. I am alone.

I hear it again and I open the door, but there is still nothing there. Only the sky. In the sky there are clouds. Behind the clouds is the night. In the night I can see the stars. They do not see me.

The face of the t.v. is blank. The bottles in the cupboard are all empty. The writing on the wall has faded away too.

I walk around my apartment unplugging all of the appliances from the grid. I’ve stopped killing the spiders that crawl from the corners of the ceiling and the floor.

I have no car in the driveway. No motorcycle in the garage. What is left behind is no longer my own. What still belongs to me is what is clenched in my teeth when I sleep.

Take that away with you. Take it away from me. Give it to all of those others whose porches have gone empty as have mine.


About magnumturtle

I write fiction.
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