The octopus.  I get reacquainted with the octopus.  The touch of its suction cups as its arms wrap around my heart.  Squeeze.

    And I die this way.

    The weather has been so appropriate.  Of course it has been.

    Of course.

    And I can’t seem to get things right.  Something falters.  Something always falters.  Either in the execution, or presentation, or motivation.  Something cracks and tears and falls.

    Something dies.

    A little more of me dies.

    So sad.  Always so fucking sad.

    These are the things I tell myself.

I tell myself, things don’t have to turn out this way, dear boy.  Things do not have to be this way.  You can be happy.  You can feel happiness.  Just let it happen.

   
    Why won’t you let it happen?

    My stomach turns over on itself.  It folds back into its own parts.  Over and over.  It kills me.

    There’s not much blood in my head.

    And this is how I die.  This is how it happens.  This is always how it happens.

    Oh well, okay.