Policy Of Truth

At age 16, Brenda promised she would only tell the truth. She had always detested lies, even little white ones, and felt sick when forced to feign compliments. Even worse, when she found out she'd been lied to after the fact, she especially hated being told it was out of a desire to save her feelings. Sounded more like an excuse to avoid a hard conversation.

Brenda found honesty liberating in many ways, including the shedding of former friendships. But the best part had to be how much she enjoyed justifying her innate cruelty by her commitment to total veracity.

The Beer Has Two Inches Of Foam, Not One.

Pushing too hard. Pushing too fast. Wanting something with such veracity that the world disseminates into popping bubbles. I have poured myself into us with too much speed; I am breathless. You are smothered. As the air escapes into a toxic atmosphere, I gulp your aroma into my lungs. I clutch your being until the oxygen releases into the air, and you die beneath my affections. My sorrow does not reconstitute you; my grief does not call you from beyond. Can you hear the lack, the absence of hope? Slow is not for the desperate. I drown in your absence.

From Guest Contributor, Karen Burton

Karen Burton is an MFA student at Lindenwood University in St. Charles, MO