Our Longed Solitude By Macklin Luke “The avoidance of suffering is a form of suffering. The avoidance of struggle is a struggle. The denial of failure is a failure. Hiding what is shameful is itself a form of shame.” -Mark Manson Her words flow too brightly I am abashed, cowed by Her zippering the folds in our laundry list reality like a cold vase of can-you-not’s With a side of a bite happy cat and the most fattest dog you’ve ever seen (cause she says overfeeding isn’t a real thing) There she goes again, rolling out a picnic chair for an impromptu Chiropractor For The Soul reading, Which is incredibly fucking annoying, cause it’s not like the air curdles when I speak, like mountains move to leave me. I am not become death, I am become healed. and I’m not even attracted to lemon slicing therapy puppies, like some flavored tinnitus balm wound on Veteran’s Day bagpipe celebrations and those stupid flowers she keeps buying knowing I’m allergic. Why her lips do that pap pap pap noise, (and her teeth rot from the inside out, but only when you look) But my ears keep snagging the sound, Like a sweater on a nail, pulling, pulling, pulling, and then I’m naked, freezing cold and filthy, once more.
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