“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
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
don’t rape her. please don’t
rape her. please don’t rape her. please