All the world in black & white.

In a room full of people

I’ll forever look at you like you’re the only one there.

The road was too dark.

 Even in the daily bright summer light, the trees blocked most of it. It left every few yards I drove with a slight single beam of sun coming through the tiny gapped leaves and branches above me. Shit Doc, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were plotting the most abominable death upon me. Perhaps when I reach the end to settle in the promised cozy bed for a quick catnap, you’ll creep low to slip my throat, letting me bleed out slowly. You’ll rid me of my insides and prop me on the wall for some horror decoration. The rate I’m going it’d be an interestingly sudden way of calling it a life. It’s much more suitable than all those suicide sketches of mine. I can see it now in top line obituaries,

 “ONCE WORLD FAMOUS SCREENPLAY WRITER WAS RIDDEN OF ALL HIS BODILY ORGANS. SEWED SHUT AND PINNED TO THE WALL OF HIS THERAPISTS ISOLATED CABIN OUT WEST. WELL, THAT’S ONE LESS DEPRESSING WASHED UP HAS BEEN WE HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT MURDERING THEMSELVES.”

I just wish I could see my Father. 

I’ll have to settle for long drives with loud music.