The fist-fulls of angst have finally gotten to me. I read somewhere that the body is 60% water but I can't help but wonder if within our dehydrated bodies we hold nothing but distraught and perhaps make believe love that we learn to express through moves and words dictated only through chick flicks and whatever has the biggest price tag. Get your girl flowers and after you slap her go to a pub and laugh about it, then mark her body with a diamond ring that may fill up a void on her soft skin but not the one in her soul, where your excuse would've lay if you'd been born a decent person.

There's a lady in the bus stop curling her toes beneath ragged, snow burnt rubber boots, as if cringing at the way her noticeably boring and perhaps useless life has gotten. I imagine she is one of three sisters. she is mars and the other two, mainly just older versions of her poor unaccomplished self, are Venus and Uranus. the ladder is just cold. She doesn't care much for formalities or anything that involves respect and effort. Small talk is inevitable but somehow she's never spoken it, fake smiles and requires but somehow she's never shown them. The other dreams too big. Not ambitious, no no, just childish. got too close to the sun and got burnt. Herself is a mixture of both. One day she'll love you the next you go to work and as you take a seat you realize there's a knife stuck to your back.

She carries a photo of her younger self in a brown leather wallet from 1998. It's blurry, but I got the chance to see it closely when the wind blew it out and I pretended to respectfully pick it up and return it to its rightfulowner. It was all just pretend, really, I was just curious to see what was in it. Beneath the coffee stain that splatters across its paper surface lies a moment frozen in time- a mother holding her child. This was perhaps one of her better moments, where you could feel the love from inside her eyes even decades later. She's tired and drained of whatever ounce of energy she might have had left but somehow she grips onto that child like her life depended on it, because it did and it does. But between the changed diapers and birthday celebrations I can bet you just by looking back at her older, present self that she had never pictured that bundle of joy to turn out in such a horrendous way. Wrapped in a hospital blanket she held someone who aside from laughing and speaking for the first time, aside from studying late at night, aside from singing her happy birthday, aside from getting his first job was someone who was also going to cry for the first time. And gossip. And yell, learn his first curse words. He would disrespect her, ask her to leave her house - the house he grew up in under her careful watch - because the paycheck never came and he wants a place to stay. He would grow to abandon her for frat parties in the middle of the night and show up back home, with two bleach blondes around his arms, banging on a half opened door because the alcohol had finally possessed whatever bit of intelligence and humanity he might have had left.

So welcome to planet earth, Venus. I bet you wish you hadn't gone up on that spaceship.