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Our words are a heavy foot on the accelerator; memories that just won’t let up Pressing, and pressing down; revving up the engine tucked away in your chest. I know that when you think about it, you get light headed, maybe even a little drowsy, and then you stop caring because where we parked our car has always been crowded. You see, the fumes can be dea dly.. If you’re not careful. —————-> If we don’t get out every now and again, fresh air might become toxic to our mutated affirmations. I only know this because, I’ve learned to love the feeling of your hands around my throat, and you used to be so sweet. It’s hard to breathe in here, watching you swallow my **** and grin like I’ve given you flowers for the first time, And I… remember …quite clearly you don’t even like flowers. I don’t know where we’re going, you keep …laying your foot to the floor, breathing harder, like you can actually smell our brain cells dying. And all I can smell is your perfume, that ridiculously exotic potion that your grandmother buys when we visit, insisting that two taps on the wrist will make you smell just like Marilyn Monroe did… I never thought that something so beautiful would reek of death. -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.