all the 80s slow jams that played at work were about sex or love or mostly regret

today i remembered the first murder i was witness to

i haven’t thought of it in so long

the circumstances that prompted the memory are sincerely so funny and absurd

but i can also smell the blood again

the hallway smelled like blood for months, the floors were carpeted after all.

i can smell the blood and i want to vomit

at the same time i want to laugh

when it subsided i felt sorry for myself

children shouldn’t be around such things, and on top of everything else that happened, that i witnessed, that was done to me, that is wrong with me.

it makes sense that i turned out the way i did, and in fact im doing an okay job.

its such a sickly sweet dark red scent

i could see the taste of it

i think actually, now that i look back at it

the red wine, figs,lemons and bay leaves that were stewing for the red wine bread is what did it

i wish it was summer; and it was storming, and i was being held.

i was being held.

post script:

the sun is setting on us again

actually, i’m excited

being content and maybe even happy is uncomfortable for me.