“Bereft…?”

I was never left without before. In desire, the useless epitome of weak mass I became has left me stuck in hour per hour guidance.

I respond as I huff and shriek, calming myself. “I have outgrown the idea of an amount in mind which accustoms the many losses one may face in their life time.”

I have no survivors guilt nor do I have any feeling of loss or trepidation to accompany them. Everything simply feels expected and as it should. I wonder how anyone else would handle these opportunities under my direction.

“I was left without any explanation as to how my mother passed.”

It seemed as though years transpired though in reality only hours had found themselves loose upon the minute hand of the clock.

“I hated the very idea. The permeability of time.”

I held my son’s hand and bid him let rest.

“Daddy?” He inquires.

“Yes, my mom” I foolishly respond.

“Haha, I love you, dad!”

The absence I feel forebodes me.

‘Is this as my child will feel… as an adult!?’ I think to myself.

“No… no… of course not! I will not pass!”

The clock sounds disrupting my derailed thoughts.

I stare into my son’s eyes. Fonts of surprise and fright. I quickly relate my accidental spontaneous outburst. Ejaculating my scandalous temperament unto a matter of moments I respond with a happy facial expression; a mask of the hollow and the deformed. Yet still I garnished a,

“You should rest, dear”.

I do have to give myself credit. All was taken gleefully by my spawn child none the wiser.

“I wonder what I’ll dream about,” As they turn over in bed weary.

Realism escapes me, I soon find that I never know when my son will sleep in permanence. I occasionally needn’t trouble myself with emotional volatility in response. In other words, as though for his sister, I feel nothing.

“You’ll dream, dear. You always do.”

I sat beside my sleeping son and thought of past and days to come.

His sister was far more physically affectionate. At most times I actually felt something. Though, commonly as I’d thought, my feelings and her’s intermingled unto a sense of overindulgence. So much so we grew bored as adults do within the smaller moments before one’s leave. I always admire her for such perceptively but never cared for her. I mean how am I to feel when the cemetery walks and the poison tolerance trials finally exhaust me?

“Mind you I do these alone.”

Try WITH my spawns?

I’ve tried, it would be a short hospital visit and a LONG talk with DYFUS. I just couldn’t win. So I turned this over to Reddit.

“What do you think?”

As I’ve heard from a few it is a weak attempt to solidify my family. Another few say give them over to dyfus. And a smaller few say, “eat them instead, a last hoorah away from anyone”.

As appetizing and inquiring as these messages all sound I believe I’ll mull over my final thoughts to myself. Razor blade in hand as to strip flesh from my arm.

“Proud of my sleeping son. I am pleased to wonder of days to come.”

My normal process when dealing with great frustrations. I surmise that I should give them a slow amount of affect without breaking character as I’ve been wanting to do since the initial bringing home. “Would they enjoy that?” I wondered. An answer “of course” surfaced as nearest to my skull as the oxytocin gland could corroborate.