[meatfinger]

Yes, here it is. I am sharing with you virtually everything I have a copy of, from the first poems I wrote (incredibly stupid and horrid) to the most recent. Comment, if you wish. If you don't, then don't. I've never been the most prolific of fellows. I write when inspired, and not otherwise. So, without futher ado....


Perfect Death October ‘01

So terrible a suffering
So intricate a gift
The deadliest of spear shafts
My iniquity to lift

How beautiful the bleeding
Does seem to me now
Destroyed my transgression
Still not sure how

Who are You, that You should bleed for me?
Who am I, that I should be set free
Just another traitor is what I’m sure to be
But still there was a perfect death
Died for me

And yet I turn away from You
I atrophy and die
And sometimes I honestly think
This all could be a lie

But then I close my eyes
And I see those bloodstained hands
It makes want to live the life
Your glory demands

The paradox of perfect death
Beyond all comprehension
Makes my life worth living
Helps relieve my tension

And I shall trudge forward
Though all may seem in vain
To take hold of my crown
I will endure the pain


Parasite October ‘01

Parasite.
You stain my mind
with your self-consuming ways.
You pull the skin off of my bones.
You feed your ego on the foolish things I do.
Make yourself tough by dragging me down.
Leech, your words are killing me.
You are the deadliest
Parasite.

Dear Society November ‘01

Dear society
I love the way you sell
Your soul
For cheap little thrills
They get you nowhere
Tires spinning in vain
But you’re lost in a deadly embrace
It brings out the worst in you

Dear society
I love the way you find
The secret of life
And then you drown it
In your bottle
This treasured toxin you
Love so well it consumes
Everything
It’s the poison you hate to love

Dear society
I love the way you pray
To God when you’ve gotten
Yourself in trouble
And curse Him when
Times are good
You don’t see how you
Contradict yourself
You’re mocking your intelligence

Dear society
You are a fool

Spiral to the End January ‘02

we have built a nation
of most massive implications
yet no more indications
(do i see)

of the things that made us great
so now evil can elate
because hate just breeds more hate
)and nothing’s free(

it’s like artificial selection
but it needs a big correction
or else this infection
)will continue to spread(

it grows like a cancer
through every strip dancer
we must find an answer
)or soon we’ll be dead(

this sickness like a stain
it will be the nation’s bane
until we pray for the rain
(of healing)

untitled March ‘02

i hide myself where you can’t see
safe behind a lock and key
but you wander up to me
and your sickly majesty
is bleeding from your eyes


night and day April ‘02

A starless night
A dawnless day
The skyshade shifts a darkling gray
This murky night
Is at its close
But with the sun comes all my woes
The hate is here
It’s in your eyes
I stand for all you’ve been bred to despise
Your face is dead
So cold, so numb
The fire from your lips has stricken me dumb
But behind the glares
Behind the lies
Behind your circumvented eyes
You know something’s missing
A tear in your soul
I know a Love that will render you whole

the darkest day June ‘02

when my darkest days escape their death
and arise from their indulgent sleep
when they run back to me
like a child to it’s unwilling father
when they return to haunt my senses
even unto death

will I then hide my eyes?
shame beyond myself, filling to completion
then will I run and lock myself away?
safe from all that would try
to help my position
for though it pains to see me
it hurts less then any alternative

or will I stay my wavering hands
and bring the dark to its
final closure?

or will I just smolder
and descend unto the dust?

Joy Buzzard June ‘02

When I ponder the facts of life
Which are inextricably bound to the facts of death
I stumble across my joy buzzard

When my joy buzzard comes to visit
There is no pain
All suffering ends as he flaps his wings
And covers me with them for one final time

I know that when those wings drape over me
To shade my existence from the heat of the sun
I will find peace in those harsh loving eyes
I find that the curse the joy buzzard brings
Is where I will find my life

For Shame June ‘02

Shame is laughter
drowned out by insistent sorrow.

Shame is an old man
longing for a life he never had.

Shame is a free bird
shackled by heavy longing.

Shame is a beautiful melody
marred by foolish meaning.

Shame is love
wasted on one who is unaware.

Shame is what you become
when all your greatness amounts to nothing.

Passed Over October ‘02

I am passed over
by your eyes

I have laid my head
on a cushion of stone
and glimpsed the angelic ascent
But I am passed over
in your eyes

I have broken down
foundations of demonic malice
and resurrected a dying people
Yet I am passed over
in your eyes

I have grappled
with overpowering divinity
Gained the prize from its lips
But I am passed over
in your eyes

You muse complacently
apathetic to the shades
of stifling evil shrouding you
Yet I am passed over
in your eyes

Untitled October ‘02

living in shadow
clinging to intoxicating
possessions (decrepit
yet still beloved)

their stench overcomes me
reeling in ecstasy
inebriant
(so divine)

i fall awhile
behind myself
traveling apart from the herd

behind I see
a pale horse and
dark riders
shrouded in flame
clothed in the guise
of a prophetic madness

slowly overtaking
(soon surpassing)

the brilliant flame envelops me
i find myself without
essence of body
bound to the lands
of swift mortality

Beautiful January ‘03

You’re beautiful
-Did you know you’re beautiful?-

Your smooth dark skin
Those diadem eyes
The lustrous sensous tresses
Flawless
-Did you know you’re beautiful?-

You’re perfect
-Did you know you’re beautiful?-

You’re so perfect I want to
Encircle your elegant neck
With my tender loving fingers
and squeeze…
-Did you know you’re beautiful?-

You’re too good for me
-Did you know you’re beautiful?-

So mar the lustrous and
Maim the lovely
Crush the bold and
Cripple the beautiful
-Did you know you’re beautiful?-

The Killer In You January ‘03

The flies, they rise.
Sluggish at first, but
soon briskly whistling.
Alighting on organs,
dampening emotion,
Leaving traces, larvae
in my atria.
Feeding, flickering,
Tearing at will.
Suppress the violence within.

The knives, they rise.
Gleaming in starlight, but
quickly shading dim.
Flaying these fingers,
sharpening emotion.
Leaving scarlet trails, sacred
to my aquiline nature.
Groping, throttling,
Striking at random.
Beat back the killer in you.

utopiate February ‘03

we were like deer -
bounding in the shade of the sun
unhaunted by yesterday
unburdened by tomorrow
chasing after the wind
gulping life by the liter

still there was room
for so much more…

we could swing into the saddle of Aldeberan
sleep on the eye of the Bull
we could kneel at the altar of Andromeda
stare into the fountains of uncertainty
if Vega isn’t far enough
we’ll descend a little deeper

we could bask in collective vertigo
entwined about affinity
secretly struggling
sweetly surrendering
when despair overtakes us
you will gleam brighter
to love is to know defeat

Praetorian March ‘03

Edged out of your circle,
you slipped through steely grasp;
pushing, distancing.
Now night dawns, pregnant
with violent desire.
The bay pulsates of it.
The rains push through,
occulting your praetorian eyes,
glowering indignant yet sultry
in a malevolent sort of way.
Hurling emotion to the stars,
I snort apathy as cocaine -
jealousy as angel’s dust.
Again I picture you,
but through a tinted glass (dimly).
Frivolous yearning drowned
in the Arctic sea -
True lust breaks hard on
this lonely ocean shore.

Untitled March ‘03

why is it always
that whenever i
cup you
in my hand
just to bring you closer
to my mouth
you crumble away
like a lump of sandstone
or a grey mountaintop

sirens March ‘03

down into this place
warm as a virgin womb
smooth as her breath in the starlight
like a confession booth, but moist
blasphemous
apathy caresses my cheek
(ooze down the filth)
fingers through my hair
bringing forth her soggy spoils
nibbling on my ear
gasping promises (sweaty oaths)
dripping with
sensuality
immorality
(immortality)
and i cannot turn back
from this siren song

unititled April ‘03

behind the pane
veins twisting brittly
spiral down the rocky slope
bearing down from zenith
diffuse light pandering
in misdirection (shimmering)
like frozen traces of
some never-was deity
-unforgotten, just never remembered-
this is the eye of God

frenzy April ‘03

something short of heaven
yet far removed from hell
this Christ-forgetting priest
unsightly urge to quell

building towers frenzied
this pagan sacrifice
these Christ-forgetting masses
gleam in tainted light

pucker April ‘03

pucker, then exhale…

murder silence with a mortal blast
then place a finger in the slimy void
(red-stained hands)
pouring bile from my chest
like oil from a crippled tanker

in a fleeting attempt at acceptance
i bid my battered blood farewell
raptured in fatal ecstasy
but this perfect frailty remains
stop poking at my weakness

gently bowing out…
these frozen traces
of some long-lost Deity
unforgotten, just never remembered
this is the eye of God

infidelity May ‘03

Extramarital expositions
slip through shards of envy
Drink deeply of deficiency
and take part in my bulimia
Through paradigm shapeshift
peddling unsightly products

I would squeeze your sallow silhouette
if I could only bend my elbows

[Ayria]

only read the first one so far, but it was awesome. really liked it-had good feeling and expression.

[Sarah_13]

Wow~Perfect Death-that's good. I really liked the last paragraph.

[meatfinger]

Perfect Death = constipated, cliche, and otherwise uninteresting. In other words, your typical first poem.

[meatfinger]

flowers/fleshwounds June ‘03

the wind extends its testing digits
swarming against the tenuous window
as the light whistles through
spreading sustenance to the starving

incorrigible and undaunted
the zephyr’s sweet smell
mimics a holy dirge until
an orgasm of assurance erupts
spurting confidence on the meek

she’s staved off brazen sorties
-the breeze slides forth in anguish-
they skirmish playfully on broken stones
amidst flowers and fleshwounds
raining irony on the tortured

Untitled September ‘03

an ideological marine
searches only for a docile cow
with flies that stake out claims
(it is complacent yet restless
it knows not for whom it fights)
so he can flush its eyes
with an archaic heresy
and feed it riddled rhetoric
‘til it oozes from its wounds
wounds numerous enough to
make his master mirthful
for those he lacks

A Reader’s Guide to Life and Everything September ‘03

I once prepared
a reader’s guide to life and everything
It had bulleted lists,
a numbered outline,
thoughtful footnotes,
and several colorful diagrams.
It was neat and professional,
printed on thick gray paper

It should have been a bestseller,
but nobody understood it
besides me.

[meatfinger]

Misty on my Mind October '03

Like a fog that won't burn away
My mind ping-pongs one thought
It caroms off my skull
and rolls toward my cerebellum
manipulated by invisible Birtish soccer hooligans
It tickles my insatiable cortex endlessly
In the way I never tire of
It vanquishes boredom
and eats away jealousy
in a flash of brilliant affection

The Sea November '03

The sea is a very strange creature.

I hold that it is a creature: that it lives and breathes, that it circulates, spreads, and stifles life, as any other living being must. And it will die, in its time, with a proud sneer upon its face and the broken lives of a thousand of its colleagues twisted into an ugly trophy crown on its brow.

I won’t let it.

For now, the sea will roll on its belly and sigh in sluggardly happiness. Who does it have to fear? There is no creature who can tame its toxic spray, no being that can run across its waves. It houses an army of wicked soldiers, Goliaths with rows of teeth and other harsh weapons.

This savagery is unreal.

It extends its groping fingers upon the land and licks it with a cold, unloving tongue. It spills its salty saliva on life, throttling warmth with its kiss. It torments the land, bludgeoning it with a soft brush of the digits. No soldier can battle it (even with sandbags) and no retaining wall can hold it back.

Everything falls apart.

Like a stone, I have seen the sea. I have watched it for eons, edging closer with its frigid hands, wielding love like a frosty mace. Stones are strong. Humans use stone to fashion weapons and to build parapets. Stones are strong. But I have seen the sea’s love beat other stones brutally. The buffer between the sea and myself is filled with broken stones.

I will stand against it.

(There is something fascinating about the way the sea destroys. I love to watch it, sadistic as that sounds. I think it is the way that it continues to push against its own inevitable death by causing death of its own. The way it tries to impress God by winning trophies and ruining them with sloppy kisses.) Everything falls apart.

The sea: my inspiration and my fate.

[zoe r]

Hahahaha. some good stuff.

I particularly liked Untitled (March '03), For Shame, A Reader's Guide to Life (BUT TAKE THE "S" OFF OF BESIDE!), and I liked the formatting of Spiral.

It is neat you kept all of your stuff.

Kudos.

[meatfinger]

Aw, thanks Zoe. And I will take that "s" off of "besides". Good catch.

[meatfinger]

The heart is wicked above all else,
And desperately sick.
Who can know it?
--Jeremiah 17:9

Artificial light parted Jared’s eyelids. The first thing he noticed was the machine sitting next to him, monitoring his vital signs. It was beeping steadily, keeping time with his heartbeat. Jared’s thoughts caromed off his skull at mach 3: What the hell and where am I and what is this beep and -- Then he saw his mother sitting next to him, her eyes red and veiny from lack of sleep. She reached a trembling hand toward him and touched his cheek softly. Brushing the hair out of his grey eyes, tears welled up in her own as he attempted speech, only able to groan in aching exhaustion. It felt like his joints were being held together with railroad spikes.

“Quiet, Jare, the doctor said you shouldn’t be talking for awhile. You’re in the hospital now with me. Nobody will hurt you here.”

“What time is it?” he whispered.

“Six in the morning,” his mother replied, wiping a renegade tear from her cheek as she surveyed her son’s condition.

He struggled out a few more senseless syllables, and gave up. Hurt? he wondered. What happened to me? He looked at the television and saw a cold, professional pool match playing out onscreen. Memories began to trickle slowly back into his mind.

He had stepped out of Spinners the night before, 45 minutes past his curfew and 45 bucks richer. By his reasoning, they canceled each other out. His pace had been brisk as he walked away from the greasy pool hall: the cold was stinging his lips, and this wasn’t the best part of town to be walking through late at night. A grey sedan had rolled by, he remembered. It had slowed near him, then taken off, in a hurry to get out. He just kept puffing on his Marlboro Red, cherishing the red glow that sent heat into his lungs.

Six blocks later, that gray sedan -- he could now see it was a beat-up Trans-Am -- drove by again, but this time it had stopped half a block ahead of him. He’d slowed, eyes looking for a route of escape or something to defend himself with -- a broken bottle, a trash can lid, anything. But the sidewalk was clean, probably the only one in town that was. He paused. There was no way he could outrun them, and there were three guys headed for him. ****.

The first blow had felt like a car door slamming into his cheek. His face hit the ground and split, dripping salty blood onto the cold pavement. A Doc Marten crushed into his spine; shocks of pain coursed through his arteries. With all the pain paralyzing his mind, the only word he could think was why. He hadn’t done anything to them. He wanted to know why, and that question needled his mind until moments later the beating ceased and he slowly slipped into blissful unconsciousness. All he knew was dark and cold and ache, and then his horrifying dream.

He was sailing through an ocean of starlight, the prow of his ship sweeping through swells of interstellar dust, dodging the brilliant points of light that bobbed around it. His craft was shrouded in the choking fog of hazy memory; it pressed in on all sides. From the crow’s nest, Jared the Starsailor could see Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, and Aldeberan, the red eye of Taurus the bull. He could see wispy nebulae and churning galaxies and neutron stars. And beyond those, a void. A monstrous, throbbing blackness that consumed everything around it. Horrified, he lowered his looking glass and sank to his knees. He didn’t understand. It was such a simple darkness, yet something about it had struck a horribly dissonant chord inside his heart. His alarm exploded when he realized that the feeling in his heart was not a loathing, but a yearning for the incredible void out there. His heart was attracted to the enormous emptiness he had seen undulating out there.

He had awoken to the monotony of the monitor next to him that continued to pulse to the rhythm of his heart. The room he now lay in was small and cold. In the corner, right next to the bathroom door, a tiny window revealed the overcast sky, frowning down at the people rushing to work. He looked over towards his mother, and saw that she was holding his wallet in her hands. He pushed enough air through his vocal cords to ask what was missing.

“Nothing,” his mother answered. “Your drivers license is here, your student ID, and 45 dollars.”

Those bastards, he thought, closing his eyes. They jumped me for absolutely no reason. The fact that all his money was still there almost pissed him off. If his $45 had been gone, at least there would have been a reason for getting the hell beat out of him. They had jumped him for sheer amusement; just because they’d had nothing better to do.

He drifted back into the netherworld of sleep with that thought in mind. During the hours through which he slept, nurses glided in and out, fiddling with machine buttons and checking vitals. Doctors with morose eyes stopped in just long enough to check his chart. Family occasionally sat by his side, but usually he was alone. Although the fractured ribs and the concussion he was left with were substantial injuries, the only medicine that would heal them was time. The hospital released him later that afternoon.

Jared dreaded his return to Moorhead High School. Though he had convinced his dad to let him sit out the remainder of the week, his father had been firm in deciding that Jared would be able to return come Monday. A bandage was plastered across his left cheek like a sterilized leech that he was unable to remove. At least if his face was covered with scars he would look tough; with hospital fingerprints all over him, he looked like a jackass.

As he drifted through the halls a chorus of faces eyed his wounds, silently judging with knotted foreheads. He had picked a fight with someone he couldn’t handle, or his old man had beat on him, or he had given a very large someone more sarcasm than they cared for. Their Abercrombie denim jackets had become judge’s robes and their fists gavels, striking hollow against the judge’s bench.

Jared quickly located Cam, who winced as he surveyed the condition of his friend.

“Damn, you weren’t lying when you said they messed you up.”

“I told you, man. I was so ridiculously bored in the hospital. The same scene-of-the-crime **** on TV constantly, and my best friend didn’t even come to visit me.” Jared shifted his feet, eyeing Cameron’s rosy cheeks with disdain, looking for the slightest signal of remorse. The dark eyes held none as they shifted from Jared’s feet to the window.

“Hey, man, I figured you would want some space after your…accident to, you know, rest up and stuff like that.” His excuse lingered uncomfortably in the air before falling through the floor. He tried again. “I wanted to visit, but I’ve been real busy, and my parents have been out of town with the car, so I couldn’t come anyways.”

Whatever, Jared thought. Funny how friends can be the ones who let you fall the hardest sometimes.

The bell shrilled as students began shuffling towards the cubicle classrooms. Cam and Jared quickly parted ways. Jared, irritated as he was with his friend, was glad for relief from the situation. Everything would be fine by lunch, he knew, although he irritatedly clutched his grudge for now. He always tried to stay pissed at Cameron, but that roguish grin was irresistible. Jared thought back to the time in junior high when they had decided it would be a good idea to try to peek through the back window of the girls’ outdoor locker room, which somehow had escaped being frosted. Jared had been sitting on Cam’s shoulders, peering lustily through the window, when Mr. Shadley had found them. It was Cam’s innocent grin that had gotten them out of that mess and so many others. Jared shook himself back to the present as class began, and he began counting down the hours to lunch.

Four hours later, Jared and Cam were sitting at a rust-red picnic table outside. The sun was obscured by grey, mournful clouds, and the grassy courtyard was cast in a gloomy shade.

“They didn’t even take my ****ing money, Cam. I hate that **** now. It drives me crazy knowing that they beat me up for no other reason than that I was standing there right then. At least they could have pretended to mug me or something. The truth is, this world is a ****ed up place to be stuck in. People here don’t give two ****s about anybody but them, and I guess I just want to understand why.”

“Yeah,” Cam replied, “the other day I saw this thing on the news where a guy took this lady, raped the **** out of her, and let her bleed to death. I couldn’t believe that ****.”

“And it’s not like it just happens on the news. It’s not like the people at CNN just make this stuff up. It happens everywhere. I don’t get it, man.” Jared stared across courtyard. He saw a guy and a girl, both bristling in indignant anger. As if God was trying to prove a point to Jared, the guy cocked his wrist and backhanded the girl. Everyone around was conveniently looking the opposite direction. “Did you see that, Cam? Scott just hauled off and backhanded Ann. I bet he didn’t even have a good reason. What a prick! I told you, man. This world is on a downward spiral, and I’m not about to follow it.”

Hesitantly, Cameron ventured, “You know, Jare, it’s not like we’re exactly angelic either. What about that time we pushed Jake Simmons off the back of the bleachers? He got hurt pretty bad, and we thought it was funny as hell. I can’t believe we didn’t get busted for that.”

“Yeah, I know I’m not perfect. I’m not going to say I am. I’ve done **** that I regret too. I just don’t get it. If we could just treat each other with a little ****ing respect everything would be so much better. But every day I hear the words “theft”, “assault”, “rape”. I don’t know, maybe we’re just so infatuated with ourselves that we can’t help but hate everyone else. I don’t understand anybody anymore. I don’t even understand myself.”

“I dunno, man.” Cameron had nothing more to say, so he stared off into the throbbing crowd of students milling about aimlessly, just killing another minute of their baseless lives. He laid his head into the pillow created by his forearm and mumbled words that Jared couldn’t decipher. Suddenly, a smooth feminine voice weaved through the blizzard of flying thoughts. “Cameron?”

[meatfinger]

Jared had never seen her before. This wasn’t surprising considering the size of Moorhead High, but he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed her before. The diminished rays of light came to rest upon her smooth cheek, gathering there upon the warmth of her body. ****, he thought, I’m staring. She glanced over at him, and smiled -- one of those smiles where it’s only the mouth smiling. Her eyes remained glassy, like a chameleon’s. God, I’m a moron, he thought. She probably thinks I’m just staring at her just because I think she looks like a great piece of ass or something. He forced his eyes away. Cameron was looking at him, that sly grin expanding across his face. Jared realized he’d just missed the entire interchange between his friend and the exotic woman.

“You’re staring at Janelle like you’ve never seen her before,” Cam remarked with a hint of mischief. He raised one eyebrow and stroked his chin softly.

“I haven’t.” Pause. “You know her?”

“She’s in my group in Algebra II.”

“Damn it. She’s gorgeous.” He couldn’t get over the way her dark hair spread across her shoulders, like an angelic waterfall. “She have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t think so. I never see her with anyone.” Cam replied, eyebrows raised in apparent amusement. “I suppose you’re expecting an introduction.” Jared merely looked at him. The stars in his eyes gave Cameron his answer. “I’ll arrange a ‘study session’ for us, and you can just happen to be there.”

“I can’t meet her now?”

“I guess so, if you really want to.”

“Cam, seriously, you’re awesome. I owe you.”

Trying -- and failing pathetically -- to look nonchalant and sophisticated, they strolled over to the table where Janelle was sitting. She was chatting with a friend. From the way she focused her dark eyes on the girl, Jared knew she actually cared. Cam politely interrupted their conversation, bull****ting about their big math test next Tuesday sometime. Did she want to get together and study for it sometime early next week? And oh, by the way, this was his friend Jared, who would probably help out because he was good at math.

“Hi. I’m Janelle.” Her tone was polite, but nothing more. Damn it, she probably thinks I’m some sleaze trying to hit on her or something.

“Hi. Jared.” He smiled warmly, in a non-player type of way. She turned back to Cameron to work out the details of their study session. Cameron’s place, Monday evening at six. He’d take care of food. Jared lamented the fact that Monday was a whole week away.

But the day did come. Jared walked into Cameron’s home about a half hour before Janelle was supposed to arrive. Cam ordered a pizza while Jared brushed up on his algebra. Cam’s parents had gone out for the night, and he was an only child, so they had the house to themselves. Jared rifled frantically through Cam’s CDs, looking for one to fit the occasion. All he could find were rage-driven metalcore albums. Finally, shoved halfway behind the dresser he found an old Marvin Gaye album and decided it would suffice. He was putting it in the stereo when Janelle knocked on the door. Cameron let her in and explained that his parents weren’t around. “Oh, and you remember Jared, right? He’s crazy good at this stuff, I figured he could help us out,” Cameron added, almost as an afterthought.

“Yeah, I remember. I probably need all the help I can get,” Janelle said. Her smile was a bit more human this time, but she kept fidgeting with her silver cross necklace as she walked to the table. After some general bull**** small talk accompanied by pizza, they cracked open the textbooks. Since neither Cameron nor Janelle knew what they were doing, Jared took the helm.
“Okay, first you’ve got to see if the equation can be factored…” Damn it, what the hell am I supposed to say? I don’t even know if she likes me. She seems cool with the fact that I’m here, but a math assignment isn’t the most romantic of occasions.

“If you can factor it, then break it up and solve each side.” Janelle pushed her paper over towards him, and he examined it. “Yeah, exactly. That’s perfect.” He displayed a broad smile -- a little too broad, perhaps? This time she returned the smile, and her eyes were glowing like twin diadems.
She started in on another problem, and Jared looked at Cameron, silently asking his opinion. Cam curled the corner of his mouth and nodded almost imperceptibly. She smiled at me and oh my god and I think maybe she likes me and Cam saw it too and what the hell what do I do to take the next step and she’s beautiful and maybe I should -- “Hey Jared, this one won’t factor. What do I do now?”

Like a paratrooper on an undercover operation, Jared walked over to her side of the table and squatted down behind her. He gazed over her shoulder at the equation, but he was busy inhaling her womanly fragrance. “Um…in that case I think you should use the quadratic formula. It should be in the book somewhere.” He reached his arm around her and turned a few pages back, allowing his skin brush against hers. Quadratics had never been this sexy.
“Is this it here?” As she pointed to an intricate formula filled with variables and square roots she let her hand come deliberately to rest upon his. His skin rippled in sensual rapture as he struggled to string together the words to answer.

“Uh, yeah, that’s it. Just substitute a, b, and c with the numbers in the…uh…the equation.” He swiveled his head and affirmed his words with a slight smile. Their hands were still touching.

He disentangled himself from her atmosphere and settled into the chair next to her. They worked through the problems together. His feelings quickly multiplied as they spoke in square roots and factorials: the language of love. At every opportunity, Jared found a way to put his hand on her shoulder, or lean as close as he could. At every opportunity, Janelle encouraged it, basking in the aura of a newfound fascination.

The number of problems remaining to be solved dwindled as they learned through mathematical means how intoxicating infatuation can be. Soon the books were closed, the pizza box was empty, and they sat in sweet silence. Janelle stated absently that she needed to go home soon, but that she didn’t have a car and would Jared mind walking her?

Inside his chest cavity, Jared’s heart exploded, painting his ribs and organs with his thick blood. He promptly agreed, and said goodbye to Cameron, grinning like a drunken fool. They stepped out in the brisk night air, and Jared’s hand somehow found its way into Janelle’s. The office buildings parted to grant passage to this oblivious pair of lovers. Taxicabs bowed out of respect. The sun, dipping near the horizon, slipped out from behind the clouds and spread a pathway of brilliance ahead of them. Jared and Janelle held their silence -- not out of a lack of words, but because the words wouldn’t fit around these feelings. She stroked his hand with soft experimental fingers as they neared her home.

They made a left turn; the street sign read Riviera Avenue. Jared’s pace stiffened, and his hands began to tremble. It was getting dark, and the route home led back through this place. He could see Spinners ahead on the corner. She lives here? ****, he thought. His grip on her hand must have tightened, because she stopped him.

“What’s wrong, Jared?”

He traced the still healing gash on his forehead -- he’d removed the bandage a couple of days ago. “I…I can’t go this way. ****…I can’t.” An angry crash tore the silence behind him. Jared whipped his head around only to see an old man standing outside the door he had just slammed. “I can’t do it.”

She twisted her face like a jigsaw puzzle, contorting her lips and lowering her brow. Chapstick glistened on her lips like a layer of ice. She narrowed her eyes at him, squinting as though she were staring into the sun, trying to find the secret that lay at its center. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“I just -- I can’t. Sorry.” Jared turned his head, unable to meet her eyes.

Damn it. I am such a bastard. She stood still for a moment, as if pausing would bring back the mathematical passion they had experienced earlier. She turned slowly and continued down Riviera, her head slightly bent and her hands in her pockets. She didn’t look back.

Jared ran towards his house, flying through lanes of traffic with reckless abandon. The frigid air stung his eyes, and his hair sailed behind him, reaching back towards his girl. As he reached his house, he stared woodenly at the massive oak door, for a moment letting his thoughts break loose. I’m such a ****ing prick damn it why couldn’t I just walk her the rest of the way nothing was going to happen and why and why and why! His numb feet managed to carry him inside and drop him on his bed. Sleep eluded him -- he couldn’t get comfortable and his mouth was dry. After finally managing to sleep fitfully for a couple hours, he felt like he had been picked at by a flock of vultures. His head was pounding, and his legs ached. Worst of all, his brain was bruised. It was marred by the thought that he had hurt Janelle, pushing her away from him before they even got a chance to explore one another. He may as well have backhanded her just like he has seen Scott do to Ann. He had completely disregarded her in favor of his fears. He was no better than anyone else, than the rapist, than the assaulter, than the fraud. His guilt was decreed just as strongly as theirs.

He wiped his face with his clammy hands. The mirror showed him what he was: a bleary-eyed mixture of passion and paranoia: two things that are mutually exclusive. One of them had to win the struggle within him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried to decide what he should do. It was 12:48 A.M. There was no way he was going to sleep more. Slowly, he stood up. He put on a jacket and left his room.

His feet hit the pavement, and the cold night air attacked his bare face. He ran in Janelle’s direction, adrenaline powering his ceaseless effort. He passed Riviera Avenue. He passed Spinners. He passed a dozen darkened stores and dingy alleys. He realized he didn’t know Janelle’s address, so he began looking at mailboxes to find her last name. It was only a block down from Spinners. He hesitated for a few seconds at the door. His knock echoed inside the house. Only a few seconds later, Janelle opened the door. She hadn’t slept, he could tell. They looked at each other for an eternal moment.

“Janelle, I’m sorry.” Her face held that same contorted expression as before. Tentatively, he reached out an experimental hand and placed it on her shoulder. Her eyes continued to search his, and he hoped that her expression wasn’t one of judgment. Slowly, she placed her hand upon his, and they stood for a moment of silence, contemplation, reverence. The porchlight shone above them, and he shivered against the cold. She led him inside and they sat on her couch. They spoke in hushed tones about everything. The room was dimly lit by only a small desk lamp, and occasionally by headlights shining in the window as cars drove by.

“I don’t know, after those guys beat me I just felt like ****. Not physically I mean, but inside. They beat the hell out of me, and I didn’t do anything to deserve it. I just felt like maybe there wasn’t any good in people. I mean sure, you see stuff on the news about people helping their community or whatever, but when it really matters, all we do is hurt other people. We just want for ourselves. We don’t really care about other people in the long run. It’s pretty messed up.

“But when I saw you, when I heard you speak for the first time, somehow all that cynicism was gone. I felt like maybe I could love someone more than myself. You showed me that it’s not impossible. I feel…okay. I feel ridiculously okay, more okay than I’ve ever felt before. And I feel like if you can do this for me, then maybe there’s someone out there that can make everyone feel like this. And maybe there’s hope and we aren’t completely ****ed up like when we are only out for ourselves.”

Janelle smiled in agreement, a sparkling smile that changes lives. They talked for hours more, with smiles and laughter and tears mingling together into a blend of beautiful humanity. As the sun began to peer over the buildings to the west, they grew silent. The first ray of light struck Janelle’s necklace, illuminating the cross in a holy glow. As the room grew lighter by shades, the grey hue began to dissolve, sinking into the floorboards. The light was pouring down on Janelle, and as the sun climbed higher, its warmth circled Jared also. Between them, the cross pendant hung, twinkling in promise of a new day.

[Ayria]

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