No more than a painting
results of destructive strokes
my body radiates crimson
the blood you drew greedily
and blue, the memory of clear skies
we once touched together

On nights when the moon swells
and entices you to smile
I’ll dare you to need me
as winter nips at your heart
and you press your face
against your own reflection
knee-deep in cold regret
wilder wring of grief
creeping as a corpse
who dug his own grave

The other day our son came to us with a problem.  He has moved back in with us at 21 after we suffered a moment of temporary insanity.  It seemed that he just could not stand his bedroom any longer. Hence the problem.

He approached us after having to begrudgingly pay his rent, a whopping $150 per month food included. It seems that he has decided that since he is barely employed and has so much free time around the house that he just doesn’t understand why we need that big bedroom when he could use it in so many better ways.  We apparently aren’t using it enough ourselves.  Probably that darn work getting in the way again.

Not only would he require the master bedroom, but it also seems that he would need for us to move our stuff out post haste so we could move his stuff in.  Funny isn’t he.  I say we meaning his mother and I because he just couldn’t trouble himself with having to do it himself.  He has a way of suddenly becoming very busy when work needs to be done.  I think he spent more time on the planning of this big move then on actually being employed this week. 

Needless to say, we slept in our room last night. The most amazing part of the whole experience was that he was actually serious.  He really thought he had a good argument.  I wonder what might have happened if I had ever approached my dad with the same request.  What have we done.