A Necessary Evil
One and Lonely
Her smile is as smudged as her make-up. Her teeth are dotted with day-old lipstick. Traces of him are still stale on her tainted tongue. She can still taste him. She can still feel him. Inside her. Her pretty face is circling the shower drain. All her assorted powders and colors and scents are going down the drain. All the wasted money spent on her face goes right down the stained drain.
Her life is going right down the drain. Her life is spiraling through city sewer pipes and is dumped off at toxic waste sites. Men in white and orange suits will clean through her life. Purify the water her life is settling in. And somewhere, sometime he will drink her life through a glass like the one he smashed into the wall. The wall at the end of the bed now smells of old liquor. Sometime he will clean up the glass. Sometime he will clean up his act.
But a month or two from now, he will drink up her purified, buried life. He will drink the same water that is circling in the shower drain. He will drink all the old eye-shadow and the mascara that will leave dark puddles under her eyes. He will drink the life (lives) he stole.
The water that whirl-pools in the porcelain tub is laced with blood. Her blood. Her life. Her face. All of her is slowly wasting down the drain. Threads of lipstick-red blood leave trails down both her legs. Someday, she thinks, he will get a glass down from the kitchen cabinet and drink all her blood. All the purified sewer water full of her blood will come bursting from his faucet. He will drink and digest her blood. She will be inside of him, instead of him being inside of her.
He will get lucky. He always gets lucky.
He won’t know that she is swimming in his gut and has been absorbed into his bloodstream. He’ll get lucky. He won’t have a clue. Unlike her. Right now she can feel him. He’s clawing at her insides. He’s shredding her body to tiny bite-size pieces. From the inside out. He’s reeking havoc in her. He’s bleeding her dry. He’s like a leech, and he’ll bleed her dry all for selfish demise. This isn’t really about her anyway. It always circles back to him. Like the water in the drain, it will go back to him sometime too. Like her blood and her beauty, it was all because of him.
She is just a decoy. This is really just his story.
What he doesn’t know is that somewhere swimming inside her torso is a tiny mass of crossed DNA’s. Well, was swimming. The criss-cross patterns of him and her are now going down her legs in pools of blood. The small replica of the both of them is now traveling through dirty, rat infested pipelines underground. Poor thing is now just waiting to be purified through some cheaply funded water treatment. Maybe in the same glass, a couple months from now, he will drink and digest his baby too.
He will pay for this, the same way he pays for bails and electricity. He will pay a generous fine from the pocketbook in his soul and the wallet in the right back pocket of his jeans. He will have to pay for all the blood lost and the tears shed. He’ll pay for all the make-up she wasted and all the beauty that will clog the drain. He will have to pay the plumber when he comes to clean out her bathroom pipes because all her blood and beauty choked it up. He will pay for pain and suffering and the three bottles of aspirin that it will take to make the pain wear off. As you can see, his bill will become quite high.
And don’t forget all the taxes he will have to pay. For her pain and suffering.
He doesn’t know it, but a couple months from now, after he has drunk all the purified blood and powders, he will get a bill in the mail. A bill with a return address of never. Of, course he will complain to the bank. There’s no way he would be able to empty an entire bank account in one sitting. But a lawsuit’s a lawsuit.
All his money will go directly from his bank to hers. For all the lives stolen. For all the blood loss. For all the money wasted on her make-up. For the lipstick smudged across her smile. For all the pain and aspirin. For the future. Her future.
It’s always nice to have some money saved for situations like this. No one knows when the doctor’s bill is going to rise. Or when you’re going to have a baby. Or when you’re going to have funeral in the bathtub.
And no one knows when they will drink purified blood and water from their dead baby. No one knows if they drink water that has been spun around and laced with someone else’s blood. No one knows when that water soaks into their veins. Essentially, you become a part of someone else. Someone’s old DNA could be floating around in that glass of water on the coffee table.
No one really knows though, and that’s the beauty of it. He won’t have any idea when he gulps down the mouthfuls of water that he will digest his unborn baby.
But what you don’t know won’t kill you.
Her life is going right down the drain. Her life is spiraling through city sewer pipes and is dumped off at toxic waste sites. Men in white and orange suits will clean through her life. Purify the water her life is settling in. And somewhere, sometime he will drink her life through a glass like the one he smashed into the wall. The wall at the end of the bed now smells of old liquor. Sometime he will clean up the glass. Sometime he will clean up his act.
But a month or two from now, he will drink up her purified, buried life. He will drink the same water that is circling in the shower drain. He will drink all the old eye-shadow and the mascara that will leave dark puddles under her eyes. He will drink the life (lives) he stole.
The water that whirl-pools in the porcelain tub is laced with blood. Her blood. Her life. Her face. All of her is slowly wasting down the drain. Threads of lipstick-red blood leave trails down both her legs. Someday, she thinks, he will get a glass down from the kitchen cabinet and drink all her blood. All the purified sewer water full of her blood will come bursting from his faucet. He will drink and digest her blood. She will be inside of him, instead of him being inside of her.
He will get lucky. He always gets lucky.
He won’t know that she is swimming in his gut and has been absorbed into his bloodstream. He’ll get lucky. He won’t have a clue. Unlike her. Right now she can feel him. He’s clawing at her insides. He’s shredding her body to tiny bite-size pieces. From the inside out. He’s reeking havoc in her. He’s bleeding her dry. He’s like a leech, and he’ll bleed her dry all for selfish demise. This isn’t really about her anyway. It always circles back to him. Like the water in the drain, it will go back to him sometime too. Like her blood and her beauty, it was all because of him.
She is just a decoy. This is really just his story.
What he doesn’t know is that somewhere swimming inside her torso is a tiny mass of crossed DNA’s. Well, was swimming. The criss-cross patterns of him and her are now going down her legs in pools of blood. The small replica of the both of them is now traveling through dirty, rat infested pipelines underground. Poor thing is now just waiting to be purified through some cheaply funded water treatment. Maybe in the same glass, a couple months from now, he will drink and digest his baby too.
He will pay for this, the same way he pays for bails and electricity. He will pay a generous fine from the pocketbook in his soul and the wallet in the right back pocket of his jeans. He will have to pay for all the blood lost and the tears shed. He’ll pay for all the make-up she wasted and all the beauty that will clog the drain. He will have to pay the plumber when he comes to clean out her bathroom pipes because all her blood and beauty choked it up. He will pay for pain and suffering and the three bottles of aspirin that it will take to make the pain wear off. As you can see, his bill will become quite high.
And don’t forget all the taxes he will have to pay. For her pain and suffering.
He doesn’t know it, but a couple months from now, after he has drunk all the purified blood and powders, he will get a bill in the mail. A bill with a return address of never. Of, course he will complain to the bank. There’s no way he would be able to empty an entire bank account in one sitting. But a lawsuit’s a lawsuit.
All his money will go directly from his bank to hers. For all the lives stolen. For all the blood loss. For all the money wasted on her make-up. For the lipstick smudged across her smile. For all the pain and aspirin. For the future. Her future.
It’s always nice to have some money saved for situations like this. No one knows when the doctor’s bill is going to rise. Or when you’re going to have a baby. Or when you’re going to have funeral in the bathtub.
And no one knows when they will drink purified blood and water from their dead baby. No one knows if they drink water that has been spun around and laced with someone else’s blood. No one knows when that water soaks into their veins. Essentially, you become a part of someone else. Someone’s old DNA could be floating around in that glass of water on the coffee table.
No one really knows though, and that’s the beauty of it. He won’t have any idea when he gulps down the mouthfuls of water that he will digest his unborn baby.
But what you don’t know won’t kill you.