Razorblade Tears

by S.A. Cosby

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

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

There was murder in Ike’s eyes, as pure and as potent as corn liquor.

There was no turning back. There was no path that led anywhere except down a long road as dark as your first night in hell and paved all along the way with bad intentions.

instinctual avoidance.

He had the self-assurance of most mediocre men.

“It’s easier to keep your head in the sand than it is to try and see things from somebody else’s point of view. There’s a reason why they say ignorance is bliss,”

The bricks around the window cracked, shifted, and fell to the ground like a meth head’s teeth.

Buddy Lee took it, tipped the mason jar up, and savored the burn of the corn liquor in his chest.

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

Blood as slick and whispery as mercury poured from the wound in his neck.