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PrecipiceHe stood on the edge and looked down to the streets below. All his life he had been so afraid of heights and here he was. Precipice, he thought to himself, what a word to come to mind. I'm about to swan dive into concrete and all I can think of is the proper name for this place. If I weren't so numb inside I'd laugh.
From the rooftop the city flickered below like a sea of neon and dim streetlights. This place was far too urban to give a decent view of the sky at night. It was cold out and a wind had picked up. He could smell the donuts being cooked down the street and the faint aroma of urine from the alleyway below. Christmas time in Houston was mild by comparison to most places, but still he wore a coat. It'd be a shame to ruin this coat, he thought. He took it off and folded it neatly on top of an air conditioning unit nearby. Maybe someone will find it and give it a good home.
He went back to the edge. He was shaking. It was the adrenaline. Fear? Now? Why no
Untitled Poem, No. 2look upwards,
turn to face the divine.
i have been contemplating the infinite and the infinitesimal.
the total sum of all things moving in cycles so grand
as to be lost in our meager view.
we, as part of the infinite,
we extend along the upward and inward
axis beyond conceptualization,
beyond language to describe,
beyond mere dimension.
lost like a dream.
a dark spot in vision
created by the momentary spark
I Am"Kalo 'smi loka-kshaya-krit pravriddho lokan samahartum iha pravrittah."
- Quote from the Bhagavad Gita
I am a hired assassin. It's the only thing I've ever been good at. I killed my first human being at the age of ten. A man who had been abusing my mother. I found a kitchen knife and rammed it through his back until it came out his front. The only thing I really remember is the smell of his blood, rich and dark, flowing out of him. A coppery smell in the back of my throat.
I wasn't a cruel child. I never hurt small animals. I never set fires. I was quiet. I spent most of my time looking out the window at the other children play. I remember that I would often draw pictures of mythological creatures. I learned to read early and enjoyed Aesop's fables and books about heroes and monsters. Even though I was a very still and calm little boy, there was still a deep reservoir of rage inside me. All in all, childhood was lonely.
My mother never looked at me the same way again after I ran the m
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