happiness fades too fast and you cannot hold on

The numbness wears away

the edges of the photograph

memory, blurring together colors until

it’s nothing but a fuzzy, faded mess

of what used to be.

Inspired by a post that said taking too many pictures while you’re having fun actually diminishes your ability to remember the happy memory.



she prostrates herself at the feet of the mother, a hymn to the dead on her lips. veils thin and the thrum of power echoes across the space between worlds, seeps through cracks and pours out into the night. a fog on a Halloween night, one that whispers of ghosts long past. it arches over the girl, words still spilling from her mouth.

in the darkened room, the fog is shadows. they shift and swirl, forming shapes that go unnoticed. and then She is there, lady of the underworld with Her crown of thorns and roses. Her smile is saccharine, too much morphine in the drip as it washes over the lovesick worshipper, a gentle hand tilting the girl’s face up. eyes wide, the words stop, the girl gazing at her mother goddess.

“Have you ever tasted death?” She asks.

from here, the girl can almost see the skull beneath the hair that covers Her face. “No,” she answers, the word escaping like a last breath.

the goddess’ lips pull back into a more wolfish smile. “Then let me show you,” She says, and leaves only a rose petal behind.

la muerte

She walks through the streets unseen, eyes glittering with the flames of a thousand candles. It is quiet, the last of the costumed revelers at home. There are no stars, only orange lamplights that turn the night sky into a false daylight, the sliver of a moon the only thing visible. She smiles as she passes the houses, pumpkins carved with crooked grins, plastic skulls set out near doorsteps. Leaves rustle at her footsteps. She sees little children asleep, their sugary dreams taking hold as adults sit around the table, sipping tea and remembering times past. The wind is soft, a last breath as the night fades into November. She gathers a few cobwebs for her veil. Her time has just begun. And she has not been forgotten.


when they say “the world is your oyster,” do they mean

i can pull it out, screaming,

from its shell

or use it to mass produce a milky white pearl

that will sell for hundreds of dollars one day?


do they mean i can exploit it,

dig it from its watery safe haven,

put it up for auction,

people’s faces pressed against the glass, saying

“this one, this one will do”?


can i collect a whole galaxy’s worth of people’s oysters

people who just left them there in the dark depths

of the ocean in space?

can i cook them all up or eat them on the half shell,

my lips stained with the tears of their inhabitants?


i think i’d like to make a pretty penny

off these oysters,

if i can

just to taste

the salt of emotion again


Oysters $20 a pound

Oysters! Get your oysters here!