Member-only story
An Honest Man is Just Fighting Himself
Waiting for it to end
I won’t pretend I’ve changed because I’ve turned it to rain, said so many times my promises became raindrops what do they mean in Seattle?
I’m a thunderstorm so useless they don’t carry umbrellas they wear rain slickers and when the rain hits the ocean’s surface they’re a joke. The waves make faces then break into laughter.
Go with them. Broken knee reactions and when I sit up and carry myself to a new window it too is covered with rain. Broken hearts pour and heaven watches like the color gray like granite like indifference.
Another bill has arrived, this one asks for thirty something thousand and I am only one of me.
People are enthralled like I’ve something to offer, a resource, the closet is beautiful bursting with bouquets of flowers.
When I have had enough to drink I will put myself to bed no matter the time. Then I’ll be a paper paradigm. In the morning I’ll examine
my intentions, without question there will have been something wrong with them. Running out of metaphors I’ll live more.
Practice what you — —. I see myself from the chest down,
why see a face when you don’t like it?
Hey, I’m Roman. I’m working on my debut novel, 20xx, a work in magical realism. I write on Substack.
