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No Death in Love

SYNOPSIS: My idea of a stereotypical break-up poem

Today could have been the day you found out you were pregnant and we began to start a family.
Today could have been the day I proposed, getting down on bended knee, asking you to marry me.
Today however is the day I sit back, alone again, and cry.
I stare drunkenly at the moon and toss insults at the falling stars,
the same falling stars I once wished upon that never truly brought me to you,
and even though I held you in my arms, you were never truly mine.
I could have been a million miles away because sitting next to you meant next to nothing.
I would ask if anything we experienced was true, but I’m afraid of the answer.
Was everything simply one great big lie, is that a tragic fact?
I should have realised your promises were too good to be true,
but I unfortunately had been struck down by love, and refused to see the signs.
When I told you my feelings, you didn’t believe me, and my heart lay down and died.
You had this picture perfect image of the perfect man that, like a tuxedo two sizes too small, I could not fit into.
When we first met, you were looking for Mr. Right, but instead you found me, and now it is a second too late; all our love is gone.
When in a relationship, you stressed you give it your all; your heart, mind, soul and body.
When I was younger I had delusions of grandeur, I wanted to be yours.
Since then, I have learnt a lot. I only wish I had been born with such knowledge
to avoid the unspeakable pain that now resides inside my head and heart.
I will admit, lessons have been leant, however, heart’s have been razed to the ground,
although I can only speak for myself because mine is all but dead and gone.
When we first met, I was so alive, free and passionate; I cannot believe who I once was. I cannot believe how much things have changed.
I am now an archipelago, lost and stranded in the crisp blue ocean, sending out an S.O.S to your heart,
for mine, it has been belittled, it has been broken, and it is no longer yours.
Last night I had myself a dream, one in which your loving heart came to rescue me,
but I knew from the beginning, although it was so beautiful,
it was rather unfortunately, happily never after.
When we were together I was hypnotised from a spell cast by your hand;
a man I had once been, but now a prisoner, one enslaved to your voice,
and whatever order you gave to me, I would have only too gladly executed.
You could have taken out a gun, pressed it to my temple, and asked me to pull the trigger,
and I would have obediently done so too, because I was not quite myself anymore.
I would have done anything you asked of me, but now I fear it’s too late to dwell on the past.
I read somewhere and ignorantly believed it too, a quote from a wise old woman,
who stated ever so positively and honestly, that there was no death in love.
For your crimes against the loving heart, warrants should be out for your arrest.
You need to be charged with the murder of love, and pain was your accomplice.
Every law enforcement officer, bounty hunter and able bodied hand should have been deployed
to apprehend the heinous violator who committed such horrid acts against romance.
To this I say; long live the ghost of the fallen angel, fallen angel which was you,
but no longer. Now altered into blue eyed devil, blue eyed demon, blue eyed evil.
So sweet and innocent you once were, when you went looking for a young man’s heart;
taught to be good by your parents; to treat others with decency and respect,
and to never talk to strangers, especially when within a strange land.
You had your own ideals on love however, your own beliefs on romance;
you enjoyed the company of older men for their experience and younger men for their passion,
until you were barbarically taken advantage of, and it was only then that we fell in love.
But perhaps all of it was nothing less than a dream, and if it were, it was a good dream while it lasted
within the fabricated reality of my mind,
where I daydreamed in the dark spaces of this cold, cold world.
However, if it were to happen again
there are some things I would have to recommend.
Instead of surrendering your entire self, you could have put in half of your heart,
and I could have put in half of mine, and together we would have made a complete whole,
and therefore you would have been without a fathomable excuse to leave me,
because losing you was difficult, for you’re like no woman I’ve ever known.
I wish I had the power to see into your heart, to feel as you do,
because I cannot believe you could forget what we had so easily
and begin something new with a certain someone.
I believe it’s a facade, a shitty disguise,
because I think, or I hope, although I don’t know which just yet, that you still love me,
for the greater the romance, the worse the pain, and therefore the greater the rebound.
When we cried, it was comparative to rain in a formidable storm,
and when you started up your vehicle, the engine throttled like thunder,
right before you left at a speed faster than that of lightning.
Over time I had said jokes and I had confessed my feelings;
if only this were the way love was supposed to be, you would still be in my arms tonight.
I would have popped you the question; I certainly would have, this is my truthful confession,
but you tore out my heart from its place in my chest before I even had the chance,
and yet I am still the proud owner of my heart’s train, but rather regrettably
and unfortunately, it is at the end of its line,
for no more tracks will be laid upon this broken romance.
Now, when I walk into the bathroom and look in the mirror,
I see there’s a hideous monster staring right back at me.
This monster, he is representative of my terribly scarred heart,
for I cannot believe you are walking around with somebody else
and not just walking. But I do not dare imagine, or even write down, what else you are doing,
because it is just too painful to imagine your Heavenly body loving somebody else.
You say you do not know what is happening, you do not know what you are doing,
and in turn I reply, it is obvious. You are going to do each other,
all the two of you need to discover is where? Why? And how?
Later I regret saying this, but admit it, I will not.
All I can say, is your new man, he had better hold you real tight,
because if he don’t, I swear to you, I’ll steal you right back to me.
You say he’s great, this guy you talk about, the guy you’re constantly with,
and I ask, how can you be with him, I cannot believe he’s your type.
You say you have never felt this kind of love for any other man before.
You think you have finally found the one, that you have finally got it right.
Such words are music to your ears, but they certainly are not to mine.
How do you think it makes me feel to find everything we had was flawed?
Was I simply and always invisible to you – like a specter it would seem?
Was I a sand man, but a man made of sand, who would blow apart and disappear?
However, and it might just amaze you to learn, that I still love you;
the same way a verse loves a couplet; the same way a song loves a rhyme.
You could change your face, hair and name. You could flee to a foreign land,
and still I would have nothing but romanticised feelings for you.
If you want these feelings I have for you to end
you had better get yourself a gun for hire
because I am not ever going to stop loving you,
even after all that you did to me and I to you,
because I love you now, exactly as I loved you then.
I have always loved you, and I fear I always will.

Final Run

SYNOPSIS: Read it and find out! Just a heads up; contains a couple profanities.

The pharmacy; a ridiculously brutal environment with a bright light illuminating the aisles, the potent stink of inebriating female perfume causing me to choke as I traversed the many aisles, desperately searching for pain medication in an attempt to leave this wretched place. Suddenly I noticed her; my competition, dressed in a short pink skirt and blue shirt, her upper thighs, cleavage and belly being entirely exposed. Her red dyed hair flew out behind her as she suddenly spun around, eyeing me dangerously. Shit! She recognised me. Marsha her name was. Once we had dated, but our chosen occupations had caused us to become bitter rivals. Taking a deep breath, I began to walk over to her with the intention to say the first intelligent thing that came to mind.
‘Damn, look at ‘em titties!’ I spontaneously cried, unable to stop myself.
Her hand flew out from beside her, connecting with my face as the unexpected force threw me backwards, causing me to plow into a stack of cans which flew out in all directions as I crumpled to the ground. Marsha stared venomously down at me before storming from the store, her hips moving so fast that they collided with the Panadol sign outside, causing it to tip over. I groaned, attempting to pick myself up as the Asiatic pharmacy owner who was a leprechaun of a woman came hobbling over to me.
‘You trash my store, you idiot!’ she cried. She looked up at me as I stood to my full height and gasped. ‘You look no good. I have something, clean you right up it will!’
‘I’m fine’ I said with a wave of my hand, suddenly finding a small package being shoved into my hands with what looked to be grains of sugar inside. Shrugging my shoulders I swallowed the contents, a bitter awful taste over-powering my senses. ‘What is this?’ I cried out in protest.
‘Oh, that’s just some crushed elephant penis’ smiled the pharmacist.
‘What!’ I exploded, spitting the remnants of the elephant’s reproductive organ onto the floor.
‘Now, what can I help you with my son?’ asked the woman as I shook my head.
‘No thanks, I’m going back to the twenty-first century where I can receive actual medication; not some shit a cow defecated, gigantic cockroaches, or any other vile concoction you’ve got brewing out back’ I shouted, racing out of the store with my hair standing on end.

I closed the door to my apartment, breathing abnormally fast as I did so. But if I had wished to escape to a more attractive environment I had come to the wrong place. The entire lounge room was representative of a nuclear weapon being dropped onto the city of Melbourne. The lounge suite was repulsive; raggedy and unclean. The floor was coated in old clothes, cellophane wrappers and other indescribably inconspicuous products. Who knew what other nocturnal creatures roamed the dark corners of my home as I threw the keys onto the coffee table which was a mass of Chinese take-out and ancient pizza.
The kitchen which I unfortunately entered next was just as vulgar and uninhabitable as the rest of the premises. I looked around at the used plates and cutlery, my eyes coming to land on the table. It was a mass of papers and books; my desperate attempt to gather an insightful education in order to acquire an occupation that was less embarrassing than the one I currently found myself enjoying very little. I looked inside the adjacent bathroom, the toilet, funnily enough, appearing to be the most hygienic thing in the apartment thus far. Hell, I could have probably eaten off the God damn thing and received fewer germs from it than from the kitchen table that I ate off every single night.
I returned to the lounge room, thinking of kicking off my shoes before noticing something skitter across the carpet, which instantaneously caused me to change my mind. I hit my voice mail, beginning to listen to the messages as I made my way over to the closed blinds which hung over my window. I rolled my eyes as I listened to my super drone on about how I was six months over due on the rent. I pulled back the shades and cautiously looked through them. A person in my line of work could never be too cautious.  Unfortunately my window was directly opposite the rooftop of the adjacent building, which was the perfect vantage point for snipers. There were an awful lot of people who would have wanted to rub me out from the equation, believe me! A hired gun was simply the easiest choice when dealing with such delicate matters. It meant not having to get your hands dirty whilst at the same time leaving no trace between you and the one who took the contract. With no proper paper trail the police would never be able to tie the murder back to anyone; just yet another cold case that was never solved. I’d be a frozen Popsicle in the ground and nobody would be any the wiser.
Now, yes, you could become all sympathetic to my cause and all, but I am yet to tell you my profession. And if I am real lucky, I could go through this entire story and not have to mention such a fact to you. With that said, one could suggest that I move back with my parents, but that would seem damn well insulting. Me; a twenty something year old man who left his parents suddenly decides to crawl back and move in with them once more? I don’t think so. Not for my sake at the least, but for theirs. I have enough trouble without having to bring all of it to their door. Besides, they don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. A man in my career manages to find a way to alienate every single person that once loved him.
My second voice mail furthermore, indicated I had failed to receive the part in the Laundromat commercial because apparently I wasn’t tall enough. I was seven feet tall for Christ’s sake! Who did those bastards want, God-fucking-zilla?’
‘What do you mean I’m not tall enough?’ I heard myself cry. ‘I’m so tall, one day I forgot to look both ways before crossing the road and got hit by a friggin’ plane!’
I returned to the window, gazing down at the street for any potential secret agents. A man on a cell phone, two workers digging up the pavement, a woman pushing a pram which I presumed was hers, two women kissing beside a taxi. None of whom looked too dangerous as the next message on my machine announced a potential job offer from a law firm.
If anyone needed my expertise I was interested, but a person in my field wasn’t hard to obtain. Anyone could do it. They simply needed no life, no dignity and no brain. I recorded the address for the venue where the meeting would take place before making my way to the bedroom, praying I would find something luxurious tucked away in the moth ridden closet. Even though I mentioned anyone could pull off such a job, such a person would still need to show up looking rather extravagant. Even big businesses who resorted to such ludicrous extremes wanted to hire somebody who looked remarkable, you know, someone who could blend in with the rest of their cliental whilst conducting this mutual business arrangement. Like I said, I only hoped I could find something that would fit.

I’d arrived for my appointment earlier than expected, sitting back in the comfortable lounge chair in the law firm’s waiting room awaiting the interviewer. An attractive blonde woman in a magnificent blue dress made her way towards me, explaining she was there to escort me to the one who was in need of my abilities. I went to say something intelligent, but quickly changed my mind as I remembered how that it previously turned out. Instead, I decided on a joke.
‘Hey, what did the Pope say to Pamela Anderson whilst in the life boat?’ I asked whilst walking down the hall. ‘No, I said hand me the buoys!’  I sniggered. The receptionist didn’t. If only she’d being born with a sense of humour I could have been making love to her on the floor right here and now.
She escorted me to the room before leaving, the female lawyer behind the desk ushering me in. The office was immaculate, not an item out of place as I sat down before her, all of a sudden feeling so unkempt. I don’t think I need to mention how in comparison to my place of residence such a room was borderline Heavenly. But I guess I just did.
‘Mr. McKay, glad you could make it’ smiled the lawyer. ‘I’m sure you know why you were requested’.
‘Normally in such situations a streaker would be unnecessary’ I stated.
And now I mentioned my occupation. Congratulations Nick on attempting to keep that secret throughout the entire story. You’re what, just over halfway through the segment, on the final stretch towards the end and you just have to give away the most embarrassing aspect of your life that you were trying so hard not to tell everyone! You are awesome!
‘Yes’ continued the lawyer. ‘Well, our client has a problem with the football federation. He claims that Barry Blueteski of the Kangaroos accosted him and they have failed to provide him with compensation. We feel that if one were to disturb their precious game by erupting through it whilst indecently unclothed would cause them to become increasingly motivated’.
‘Well, I’ve already dug my own grave’ I began. ‘Why not do this. I’m sure you’re aware of the expression how one should never throw stones in glass houses. Well, I’m treading on such thin ice right now I wouldn’t throw paper in my house’.
‘Yes, you do look a little pale’ stated the lawyer. ‘You sure you’re alright?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing’ I said. ‘After this I’m gonna go home and suck on some elephant penis.’
The lawyer looked a little taken aback at this comment before nodding; obviously having no idea what I was talking about as we began to agree on the date and time I would implement my run through the football stadium.

My clothes lay in a pile at my feet as I stood in the locker room of the Kangaroos football team, the sound of the gargantuan crowd outside egging me on. I quickly tied a red cape around my neck, feeling quite uncomfortable with what I was about to do, despite having done it numerous times in the past. Believe me when I tell you, you never get used to this career. I hurried outside, the cool tiles under my feet sending chills down my spine, my heart beating like a drum in my ears.
I ran onto the field, my hands in mid air, the cape swinging out behind me, the screams of the crowd becoming increasingly louder, watching myself on the massive television screen above the grounds whilst sprinting through the game. Kangaroos: 76, Essendon: 49.
I felt the wind in places I had never felt it before, my breath clearly visible in front of me as I hyperventilated whilst running across the field.
My genitalia bounced around between my legs while my pubic hairs billowed in the breeze, the cold air making my nipples tighten upon my skin. I only hoped that my penis would not shrink too. That was the problem with indecently exposing oneself purposefully to prove a point. If you were a man and you were captured, you never wanted to end up with your picture on the front page of one of the leading newspapers with your normally five inch long penis relegated to nothing more than two centimeters. It was any streaker’s worst nightmare; to find themselves presented as though they had not being well endowed by their parents gene pool.
I felt the perspiration racing across my body while I ran towards the goal posts, racing past both the Kangaroos and the Essendon players who watched in mild bemusement as I, the near naked man with the exception of a bright red cape maneuvered around them at impeccable speed. Upon reaching the posts I found a juice box tossed at my head, protestors before me screaming from the stands at my wildly inappropriate track across the football field. I stood on the spot and danced around, mooning the crowd as I did so, my dignity, if I had any to start with, completely deserting me while I looked up at the stands and threw my hands in the air.
My penis danced around in-between my legs in its crazy attempt to do the Macarena. Whilst standing there, my heart racing a mile a minute, sweat running down my neck, I surveyed the crowd, my heart skipping a beat. Or did it stop completely? I could not be sure. All I could be sure of was that my mother was in the audience – and she did not look impressed. She covered her eyes with her hands, not wanting to see the indecent display before her, my body failing to move from shock, just as a great sweaty tub of lard landed on top of me. 
The sweaty gorilla of a man pinned me to the ground, my penis being flattened against my skin, my back becoming drenched in the sweat of some brainless piece of Euro-trash, whilst I felt my chest become wet with the liquid that coated the grounds. I looked up, thinking I might be able to crawl out from under the great sheet of flabby skin, when suddenly a player from the opposition jumped on top in an attempt to catch the ball, which rebounded off from the top of my skull and flew away in the adjacent direction. I swallowed as a menagerie of footballers began to hurry in my direction trying to grab at the football, my brain coming to the realisation that what was about to happen would truly hurt – dignity or no dignity.

I sat in a cold dark holding room at the Melbourne police station, with nothing but a red towel around my waist. The police had taken my cloak away from me – the bastards!
My whole body ached from having the entire Essendon football team leap on top of me. No wonder they hadn’t won the last Grand Final. Each of them had great difficulty in catching the friggin’ ball. They sure caught me though. But it wouldn’t have been too damn hard; after all, I must have remained still for at least a few cool minutes. Perhaps to win their next match all the ball would have to do would be to stand still somewhere. Perhaps I should get into the coaching business and mention it to them sometime. I know I may have provided all of the negative connotations that come with such a gig, but the pay is usually quite sufficient. People are willing to hand over large sums of compensation when someone is willing to destroy their dignity for them. I guess my point is that at the end of the day I may eventually find myself with quite the retirement plan.
The lights suddenly came on as a police detective entered the room, throwing a file onto the desk which I unfortunately realised to be my own; the door closing behind him. He wore a dark brown coloured suit that looked to have been a distant cousin of the one I had worn to the legal practice who had assigned me my last job.
‘Mr. McKay, we have placed you at a number of events in which you have purposefully disturbed the peace’ he noted, looking about to say more before sneezing, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Damn, I must be getting a cold’ he grunted. ‘Anyway, do you have anything to say for yourself?’ he asked.
I smiled. ‘Perhaps you should go eat some elephant penis.’