That Is Death - Shifting From "is"

You Are Far Less Likely To Soil Your Pants And Cry For Your Mother If You’re Prepared To Defend Yourself.

I Notice, However, That Peter Only Pretends To Inject Himself—when He Presses The Plunger Down, The Fluid Runs Down His Throat, And He Wipes It Casually With A Sleeve. I Wonder What It Feels Like To Volunteer To Forget Everything.

I Touch Her Cheek To Slow The Kiss Down, Holding Her Mouth On Mine So I Can Feel Every Place Where Our Lips Touch And Every Place Where They Pull Away. I Savor The Air We Share In The Second Afterwards And The Slip Of Her Nose Across Mine. I Think Of Something To Say, But It Is Too Intimate, So I Swallow It. A Moment Later I Decide I Don't Care. "i Wish We Were Alone," I Say As I Back Out Of The Cell. She Smiles. "i Almost Always Wish That.

She’s Not Pretty, That Word Is Too Small. She Is Not Like The Girls I Used To Stare At, All Bend And Curve And Softness. She Is Small But Strong, And Her Bright Eyes Demand Attention. Looking At Her Is Like Waking Up.

You Know What Mom Told Me Once? She Said That Everyone Has Some Evil Inside Them, And The First Step To Loving Anyone Is To Recognize The Same Evil In Ourselves, So We're Able To Forgive Them.