Bertha

            Thereis a woman who resides inside my stomach, just passed my gullet. Her name isBertha and I don't think she likes me. Sure, she feeds off of my nourishment,that is an evergreen of truth, but she also consumes my doom without excretionsand this is what has caused my dissonance with Bertha ever since, well, evensince I was a child - I don't know what she wasduring that time, nor at all if she ages. It's a confusing matter.

            NowI was such a fool for beauty. I do get wound up. The woman that I desire wouldoften be at parties and the occasional get together as I would be so very far -many states away - and, yes, she would send me snaps of her nights upon thetown, but I would be ever weary, with Bertha chomping down. Bertha would gnawand I would bawl and puke and sing such an incredulous chorus of screams, eventhough I trusted my beloved with all of my future and all of my dreams. Berthais super mean, I guess is what I'm getting at.

            Myfather would walk into a room and although I could snap him into pieces of two,the fool would create a rumbling within me. This man kept a tight ship, taking a few pills from mother'sprescription, believing himself to have further enriched our well being withhis foolishness as we, the children, thought he did fuck all at allto preserve the reserve of oxygen that sustained humanity. He didn't agree withany sort of assessment that suggested so much hatred, so he was quite physical,which didn't cause Bertha to have a single bit of alarm, oddly enough, untilafter I brought him to both his elbows andhis knees, floating above his blood and his own urine, relenting and thenwhispering a word or two - one of them must have been please. Bertha then sunk her teeth. Luckily, I could have walkedaway and had a shot of tequila, vodka, or my babe's favorite, gin, or whateverwas on hand to stop my distraught oddities apropos finding bridge from idea to begin. 

            Thefirst day of work, or, rather, any few hours before a long tenured occupation,would always be spent beside the toilet. Bertha hated sharing and caring wasonly a strong suit if it meant caring about me:the stupid fucking brute. She sprouted, from subtraction, a pain to anguishdeeply, that would often cause me to regret ever having wished for money. I'dstill go, regardless, because goddammit my abdomen is not a maddened captainresiding over my decisions. Pay checks are worth the derision. 

            Atthis point, I am writing this storyupon my sixth can of beer, watching a film representing two twin men withlittle fear, and I am disappointing - the only thing that I enjoy is my new andfull beard. Bertha doesn't mind it one bit, which is easily grown if I choosenot to move and stay exactly where I sit, relentless in my pursuit ofnothingness, which isn't fun as far as my pulse does beat, regardless if Berthacontinues to eat, the beast. 

            Iam relieved at the fact that I have a house and a dear to hold me closer. I'llnever be a bravado boaster, but let me be mewith my own words: I am who I ambecause of my curse, for if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be as strong as I am, indefatigably - as happy as a manlike me could ever want to be, however relentlessly.

            Keepchewing, baby. Thanks for the encouragement. Now, excuse me - I have work inthe morning and life is never boring ...

           Not even to Bertha, who may not like the taste, but she must get a kick out of the face that I make. If not, I'd rather that I not learn any more because it'll get worser and that's only worth it to a soured loser. Thank you Bertha - my bruiser. 

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