I wonder what would happen if I believed in myself, my own two hands, and the power of my singularly focused mind. If my thoughts weren't scattered skittles I tried to arrange in the order of most urgent colors.
When it's time for homework I sneak out for bud, budding friendships, and Budweiser. The party's falling apart like my teeth and my thesis is years away, a fogged dream.
I sit in my old car, parked at a gas station open late-night, watch the cars pass, and clutch a sweaty twenty in my hand. I'll walk in soon in my reindeer pajamas.
I constantly feel violated, each day a fresh counted wound, so I don't fear the night or strangers at the pump. Both dads taught me many ways to kill a man. The death of one has brought a nightly flood of desire to take life.
The old sadist is awakening, but isn't out yet. She's raising a new monster, instead.
