in the shed is a paint can with a dent in the side drippings of gray that once was pale lilac dried in faded refrain rust speckles the the once burnished metal dead zones of oxidized daydreams colonizing around the peeling label with a child’s shaky meaningless scribbles the lid sits just low enough a small flat blade screwdriver is needed to open it up with a metallic whoosh a rattle as the tarnished brass key rattles along the moonlike bottom with craters pale gray stalagmites a tap of the side rings hollow before the worn key slips from its cage

the lock it once fit long lost to the spiderweb of time buried with all the once important objects forgotten through the sin of falling sands a hole picked carefully in the microscopic mirrors of mediocrity manifest in this malicious misplaced keepsake can of dried paint once used to paint the room of a long dead girl entombed in the misery of a myriad of poor choices that led to a fucking key in a dented can on a shelf in a storage unit that once gleaned with promise but was just a reminder that nothing lasts except for sunshine coated kisses and broken promises

the whole thing is just fucked yet we all smile and nod like it is perfectly normal yet when i scream they cast judgement on my weakness in the face of their vacant godless hearts i don’t know if the words are the voice of god or proof of god or just another key in the can on the shelf in my cobweb filled brainpan my weakness gives me strength beneath the ink the beard the flesh the skeleton screaming for release trapped in a sarcophagus of corded muscle and leathery ligaments bursa sacs of kinetic entropy burst and i watch the key fly into an errant sunbeam and for a second i can see the lock hanging off a treehouse door and then nothing

sweet nothing cups my balls and slides two fingers into my mouth as the inevitability of forever coaxes one last happy ending onto the bedspread laid out across the vastness of space a quaking orgasm spraying stardust to shimmer like a billion flakes of glitter on the khakis of dave the sales rep from phoenix in the big city for the first time his wedding ring an anchor in his pocket as he prepares to make the single biggest mistake of his life except for the frosted tips in eighth grade that candy thought would make him look like a rockstar but instead had an allergic reaction that made his scalp bubble and peel so instead he got the nickname bernie but no one here knows anything about that he can be whomever he wants for the three day two night business trip

and then nothing

but this time it stuck.

8 thoughts on “nothing

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