the world as we write it

smiley status'

    eat my Twitter?

    The Black Rider

    authentic since 1981 'welcome to my bomboclot mind'

    Monday, January 2, 2012


    The room still smelled of Vaseline.  The night before was still there. The remnants of her hair was still on the sheets where they made love that morning.  Even though she had left for work, it was as if her ghost filled the room.

    The TV was on mute with the captions on, the local cable morning news was playing.  The radio was playing a CD mixtape she had made him.  Big Sean, The Weeknd and Dwele.  The Weeknd's 'High For This' was playing.

    Paul was in the bathroom feeling guilty of the turn his life was taking, he had a woman his age who was in love with him, but he was falling in love with someone ten years younger than him.  His face was over the bathroom sink ashen with guilt.  He tried to wash the pain away with the shaving cream that was mixed with the facial hair he had just sheared.  The hair and shaving cream washed away,  his angst ridden conscience didn't.

    His heart never felt more heavy.  At this age, how could this happen to him again.  He should know better than to put his heart on the roulette wheel again.  But a gambler is just a gambler.  And Paul was addicted.

    The first time was vicious because it was unexpected.  This time however, the loss would not be Paul's, it would be the world's

    No comments:

    About Me

    My photo
    If you know me then you know my name. I am The Black Rider and the world is my Flame. The rider writes, observes, creates, produces, and learns the world around him. Ride on. Ride on!

    The Remnants