Razorblade Tears

by S.A. Cosby

But time was a river made of quicksilver. It slipped through his grasp even as it enveloped him. Twenty became forty. Winter became spring, and before he knew it he was an old man burying his son and wondering where in the hell that river had taken him.

It didn’t seem fair for a man to mourn someone abundantly that he had loved so miserly.

“This is who I am. I can’t change. I don’t want to, really. But for once I’m gonna put this devil inside me to good use.”

Human beings were wired to get used to just about anything. That didn’t make you hard. It made you indoctrinated.

Folks like to talk about revenge like it’s a righteous thing but it’s just hate in a nicer suit,” Ike said.

This time they didn’t feel so much like razorblades.They felt like the long-awaited answer to a mournful prayer for rain.