A Monday Unlike Any Other

It was finally Friday (he smiled before opening his eyes). Martin shuffled out of bed and up the old spiral stairs to where the unknown awaited his arrival.
No warm smell of coffee or familiar pattering about greeted him, nor did the yellow light of day.
The curtains were drawn and the sala was littered with depression's debris that should have taken weeks to accumulate...
He looked down at his hands and then his wrists to discover tightly wound bandages; shaking and short of breath, he peeled back the tape to find the inexplicable.
Small x-marks of incision revealed that everything inside seemed to be replaced, somehow better, faster, and lighter. He shouted out an otherworldly plea, realizing that no one was around to hear him.
He thought he must still be dreaming; nothing was how it was supposed to be.
Where was Naomi? And Bust? He decided to go back to bed and let the astral fuckery resolve itself.

With the curtains now peeled, it was dark and no one had called about his absence from work. The faded hue of his bedside lamp made it apparent that resolution had never came.

The phone had no dial tone and the cable was only coming through in static waves. He checked his pulse; vascular vibrations offered confirmation without comfort. Martin paced with a frightening emptiness before draping himself with his favorite robe.

The "on" button of the coffee pot glowed with desperation and decency. He felt reassured that something was working as it should. Fresh air beckoned a sense of sanity and with a full mug in hand he was ready to put the pieces back together.

Slowly down the old spiral stairs and out the heavy wooden door, he looked past the patio to find nothing below but the black infinitude of nothingness. He shouted once more with all that he had left, took one last sip, and let himself step over into the abyss.

A Little Too Sweet

Cold marble and hockey replays linger with the familiarity of youth;
I disengage with certainty,
Engaging myself instead.

Gravity smells the opportunity for destruction,
But temptation resigns to logic again.

Dionysus rolls the die while Apollo counts cards...

Polarization is unnecessary, but inevitable.