#3 – All

Posted on March 31, 2016 Updated on April 7, 2016

I watch as the tube turns red, my blood flowing through, barely feeling the pinching sting of the dirty surgical wound.  I breathe easy – a silky calm sinking into my chest, my spirit rising and drifting through the cloying, frigid void.  There is my body, spread, fading, broken but content beneath me.  My love is at my side, the tube in her arm.  As the red of my blood sinks through her skin, her eyes flutter open. We gaze at each other and she nods a sad smile.  Soon she will be magnificent.

(c) Tim Austin 2016

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#2 – English

Posted on March 30, 2016 Updated on April 7, 2016

I say sorry a lot.  Perhaps it comes from my grandmother or perhaps from my breeding.  I’ve always been the self-effacing gentleman; the softly spoken, apologetic alien.  But it isn’t true.  Its a lie I tell myself as I beg to sleep.  Sorry is her eyes as they sink into the water on a sunny spring day.  They plead when I dress, when I shave, when I drive, when I live my hollow, polite, timid, sour pretend life.  I only say sorry because I am.

(c) Tim Austin 2016

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