*This one is on the weird side. But that's how it came out LOL Enjoy!***
Cherry Blossom by JL Denman 3/27/07
He was buried under the cherry blossoms but he wasn't exactly dead. He wasn’t exactly dead... I smiled at the thought./ Exactly dead meant so many things. So many ends. But not EXACTLY dead meant there were so many places things beginnings left. I smirked at that.
He was always so smug. Smug, rude, vile. Dead would be far to good a state for him. Instead not exactly suited my purposes. My purposes? What exactly would you like to know of my purposes? No, I am no loon, traipsing through the world on the slippery edge of sanity. Some people may think so, but the insane never know sanity. I on the other hand had no problems distinguishing the two. I just happen to enjoy the sadistic, the dark, the rude, the wild, the OH my Goodness- well, in my case, the oh my badness! And he, there, buried beneath the cherry blossoms, he liked to play along- a masochistic nut job that enjoyed a dastardly joke.
So which of us would be insane? The inflictor or the inflictee upon who gets off on it? Either way, here we are in the downtown park, broad daylight, him buried under the cherry blossoms, and I holding the shovel what plowed him under. It is a hoot! It’s an experiment. How long can he stay there without losing it? How long will I stand around waiting for the tiny bell to ring? How long and how many passers by will look, stared, gawk but keep on moving about in their own clouded deluded funks and fogs?
I’m nearly finished with the second chapter of the new novel I started. He, there buried under the cherry blossoms, helps me with my writing. When he’s in pain, I’m in glory. When he’s stretched out, I’m wound up. We’re a pair, we are. Sun and moon. Light and dark. Sane and insane. Then again all truly good couples are.
I’ve finished another chapter, taken a nap, dreamed up another torturous plight for my crazed lover.
A short ringing. A light twinkle. A slight shift in the cherry blossoms. I stand. He claws. We smile. Home we go. He trails cherry blossoms and grave dirt.