Madness

"NO MORE MADNESS" written on her mirror wall--furious and cherry red--in the devil's caligraphy--which glistened of the Moon's light as the wind whispered
"No more madness," she too whimpered in the subtle terror athat conflicts the soul with the flesh--that presses such a fragile frame against the safest rooms corner, tucked between her dresser and bed, if only for the pressures to build and such dire incomprehension pour into the air and fall like the the Good Lord's mana--
if only.

No more madness.

"Madness is life--" he slurred, having little handle of anything but the handle to which he slammed on his make shift table of a crate and cardboard box--it swayed but he held it still, grinning like a man knowing his only worth is through the mask he wears on his face.

Drunk on the loveseat juxtaposed-- make shift and taped over the tattered parts--velvet to touch but horrid to see, she turned to him for sex and therapy, making sure it was not in that order or he'd just offer the steady cadence of his snoring or say he just got paged to deliver a baby or some other assanine heart wrenching joke of "playful" abandonment of which she was looking to amend.

The garage doors shuddered to hear the wind's agenda, the cement floor beneath them heartless and bitter..."Bahbe--" (he didn't know her name for certain) "we're all gonna die, alright? That's the madness right there--" He tilts forward on his two stacked bean bag chairs--green and purple--and points in delight to his own philosophical dissertations, swaying in uncertain inebriation, "so you gotta go mad! Join some loins! And fuck while you can!"

He laughed and she smiled awkwardly to which he saw invitation. And yes he walked briskly over his frigid floor to her loveseat as the wind murmured miserable things and he put his arm around her and massaged her head and kissed her neck and ultimately fornicated awfully cause he was drunk and a bastard and saw her as a lovely meat puppet needing to be tricked and toyed. And she saw him as a warm body that put her in use and atleast he bothered to play games, which was sweet when she squinted...

He was there, sometimes--well, he was always there at this bullshit garage sleeping on a mattress next to a car he never used and a trash can he always filled with the booze he always drank. He just wouldn't answer his phone--when he'd bother paying his bill--but then he just wouldn't answer his door. He answered this time so well...

Bastard woke up at 4 a.m. coughing to see her nestled to his frame and he couldn't stand it--he just couldn't stand it. He was such a miserable man, he thought--he didn't deserve her, he exclaimed in the faintness of will as those old habits that die hard screamed! Had him pull the fire alarm, in fact--like the epic coward that he became out of sheer consequence (or so he would tell you.) He hid in the bathroom as she opened her eyes wearily to find him gone and such loud piercing cries! She grabbed her keys and clothes and stumbled to her ruminated volvo and drove off in wide-eyed madness as he tended to all the voices in his head that fought and fought and fought until they all shared a drink and fell asleep.