Razorblade Tears

by S.A. Cosby

Tears ran from his eyes and stung his cheeks. Tears for his son. Tears for his wife. Tears for the little girl they had to raise. Tears for who they were and what they all had lost. Each drop felt like it was slicing his face open like a razorblade.

“Murders of gay and bisexual men are up four hundred percent since last year. It seems like somebody made hatred hip again,”

“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.”

Men might walk on two legs but they were the most vicious animals of all. Especially when they thought they had a numbers advantage.

Ike watches as he responds the only way he knows how to respond. No, that’s not really true. He responds in the way that’s easiest for him.

Randy liked to decorate his yard with Confederate flags and DON’T TREAD ON ME signs. He railed against freeloading immigrants every chance he got. Ike didn’t think he recognized the irony of crusading against freeloaders while collecting disability that he didn’t really need.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Randy yelled. He had the self-assurance of most mediocre men.

Ike thought one of the worst things you could give a man was a clipboard. He’d been at the mercy of men with clipboards. They could keep you out of a gated community or put you on a bus to prison. Give a man a clipboard and watch his true nature come out.

A man once told me we can’t change the past but we can decide what happens next.

When the people you love are gone, it’s the things they’ve touched that keep them alive in your mind. A picture, a shirt, a poem, a pair of baby shoes. They become anchors that help you keep their memory from drifting away.

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

“Everybody sorry when they get caught,” Buddy Lee said.