The Cult of Glycon 

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I'm giving it another chance. 

Not it, them. 

They may be small, but they were alive once. 

Maybe last night, maybe this morning. 

All I know is that it hasn't been long. 

I thought they were alive.  

I was excited, I told them hello! 

As I got closer, I expected them to dart under the brush. 

But they didn't move. 

"Maybe they're scared", I said to myself. 

I actually probably said "he", one of those unnecessary genderings so many of us have grown so used to. 

It's strange to think now that I was expecting, maybe even hoping, that they were frozen in terror at the massive being now standing in front of them. 

Perhaps death was the better outcome of this situation. 

I mix my fixative in a large jar, diluting the solution so it doesn't destroy the flesh. 

As I inject this clear liquid into the small body lying before me, I think back to the moment in which i discovered them. 

If there had been life left in their limp body, would they believe I were some celestial being that had come to bring them to the afterlife? 

Perhaps that idea wouldn't be incorrect. 

I am taking their body and introducing a substance that will keep their physical being present far longer than any natural force would have allowed. 

"Playing god" is always mentioned when it comes to altering life.  

But is altering death any different? 

Maybe, through this liquid mummification, I have given them the chance of an afterlife. 

It is only a chance though. 

I have never done this before. 

Maybe my mixture was off. 

Maybe I didn't use enough. 

Did I use too much? 

Did I inject them in every necessary location to preserve the organs once keeping them alive? 

Should the solution be too strong, it would act as a corrosive. The exact opposite of my intention.  

Too weak, and the body would rot from the inside out. 

I think I am acting as an usher for this small creature. 

A considerate friend intoducing them to the great beyond. 

Perhaps I misunderstand my role in this situation. 

Am I instead a gatekeeper? 

The ferryman awaiting a fee which they cannot pay. 

Am I turning them away from the vessel that would have delivered them to whatever their form of heaven is? 

I don't know if an afterlife exists. 

At least a second life for my spiritual being. 

My tangible presence, the flesh and bones found on this plane of existence, will continue on to another life. 

My body will return to the Earth. 

My spirit will leave this realm, the rest will stay. 

Rot and decay will turn the useless into something useful. 

Nature will turn my death into new life. 

I will get the afterlife that I am denying them. 

They are sealed away, suspended in a glass prison. 

For now, they are hidden in my cabinet. 

Soon, they will be on display. 

Maybe I'm not denying them an afterlife, maybe it is just different than what they were expecting. 

Many cultures have believed that your soul would live on as long as you are remembered. 

By turning this creature into a display piece, what many would refer to as an "oddity", am I allowing for their astral being to continue to exist? 

If they are in your sight, they will be on your mind. 

I will not be remembered. 

Soon, pictures of me will fade. 

The words I write, the songs I sing, the prayers I whispered to myself in the times I thought a god might exist, these will all be lost. 

This newly created oddity will live on. 

First given by me, then passed along. 

Maybe to a friend, a loved one. 

Sold to a collector. 

They will live on. 

I am providing them the afterlife I could never achieve. 

I'm giving them the chance to be rememered. 

I can only hope that, while they are remembered, I won't be forgotten. 

​

 

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Droopy Ears and a Wagging Tail 

I curse you as I sweep up your hair for the third time today.  

I don't mean any of it, I knew what I signed up for when I brought you home. 

The only reason I appear so upset, is that I fear the day when I will put the broom away and won't see it again until the next week. 

Because that means I will now see that broom far more often than I will see you. 

I'll no longer see your wagging tail when I open the door. 

I won't feel your chin resting on my knee as I recline after a long day. 

The house will be empty, and so will my heart. 

Because your eyes have only ever looked at me with love. 

 

 

​

Is this what happens after 40 days of rain? 

I'm scared of water now. 

Not the kind of fear that keeps me from going in. 

The kind that makes me think twice before I let my body be submerged. 

You wouldn't have wanted that. 

I don't know if you were afraid of anything. If you were, you hid it well. 

I pictured what it was like. 

I saw you fall into the water, I heard you scream. 

I watched as your body got pulled beneath the wake. 

My lungs became full, but not with air. 

I reach for the sky above me, trying to grasp for something that isn't there. 

The sun darkens as I sink deeper, becoming a dark orb before the world fades to black. 

I hope it didn't last this long. 

I hope you fell unconscious, or your mind kept you from knowing, or God pulled you from Earth before the fear set in. 

I couldn't breathe for the rest of the night. 

Air couldn't enter my body until I heard the news the next morning. 

It came rushing into my lungs as the water filling them came out my eyes. 

I still visit you when my lungs are full. 

When the world is crashing down around me and I have nowhere else to go. 

I'm not able to see you much anymore, and there are many times I've had to let myself overflow. 

Spilling all that was inside me. 

I'm standing by the lake now.  

I'm watching, but you don't fall this time.  

You take a step, and your foot doesn't break the surface. 

You look at me and smile. 

An outstretched hand beckons me. 

I walk towards you, imitating that initial step you took. 

I expect to stride above the waves, but my foot falls through. 

I keep moving forward, pushing against the tide as it pulls me towards the shore. 

I stop as you turn and walk towards the horizon. 

It isn't time for me to join you yet. 

But I'm sure we'll meet again soon. 

​

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Fuck Love Songs 

I'm driving with you in the passenger seat, and I want to tell you how I feel.  

That with every song I think of you, and in every lyric I hear your name. 

I want you to know that every beautiful note reminds me of you, that each chord sounds like your voice. 

You're sitting across from me and the music in the background keeps my eyes on you, while the same words have you longing for someone else.  

I won't be them, I never will. But the songs tell me to keep trying. 

My heart breaks as I skip the next one, because you are in there too. 

I'll give up and sit in silence, but even then I think of you. 

Because even with the lack of sound, you are the song running through my mind.