I am going away. To a place where they will tell me It's not my fault and that really this is a good thing. And we'll conclude from my complexion that I have not been sleeping regular hours; that I'm all insomnia and fever dreams and bouts of anxiety that keep me twisting up the bed sheets, Little Screw, binding nothing, flush to nothing. They said they can patch me up with nicotine if I need it, and I will. I'll tell them that I used to be really sweet before things got quick, and people…

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They said I shouldn't come around anymore. What they meant was that I couldn't come around anymore. I had put a tool set in their seven yr old's easter basket and told her she could be anything she wanted. She didn't want that. She wanted peeps and a Barbie that would grow up to sing backup vocals when she wasn't nuetering terriers. She w anted 57,000 hits on her youtube page.

And I'm sitting at the library outside, reading some book on borderline personalilty disorder and this chick gets out of her car and leaves it for five minutes. And all the while I'm trying to read my sentences in the sunshine but mostly thinking about how much I want to jump her car and rip out of the parking lot and thinking this girl's a fool for letting her car just sit there keys inside. I'm like "hello, bitch slut, don't you know some junkie is gonna steal your car?" that junkie being me?… Continue

This sick sick feeling. Stomachs now the water heater nestled in the basement. Behind the file cabinet for which we have no key and whose drawers are labeled with the forgotten penmanship of dead church secretaries or great-great grandma who distracted us with barn cats while slipping nesquick in the whole milk. Water heater, encrouched upon by weeds, by wrapping paper from a distant christmas where twinkle lights were not the only ones flashing. Stomachs now the water heater; steam, quiet as… Continue