• Anonymous

“is now still… from yesterday?”


i loved the life on the road, the fantasies of me going

somewhere without all the things i need, but all the things i want.

i loved the life full of smoke in which i could see my future. i loved the thirteen-year-old me:

read my grandpa’s newspaper, turn the TV off and sigh because world peace seems so

far-fetched.

i loved the me drinking beer for breakfast and being depressed because

nobody believed i could smile (still) being depressed.

i turned the TV off and put my headphones on. my dad slammed the door – real(ly) fast, and i hear my mom

whisper in vain… something. he just came home after kissing bottles, and i just took a few long hits

we talked, and smiled, and nodded, and blew kisses (he), and talked, and nodded, and nodded (me) then walked away (he.)

i closed my eyes and heard the door. i heard my mom's whispers and i

heard myself: please

please

don’t rape her. please don’t

rape her. please don’t rape her. please


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