Forty seven seltzer drinks all stuffed to the rim with enough alcohol to absolve infection. Broken washing machines lined up to rinse and repeat the dozens of wet blankets left behind by the woman that stomped out your heart. You are an island. Surrounded by water and one thousand years of tears. You are the tree in the forest that no one hears fall. You are the abandon car on the freeway set ablaze by the millions that march.
Busted porch planks and thick, humid air that saturates your stained and soiled shirts. Greasy knuckles and dirty finger nails from spending too many days behind baths. You are a failure with cracked teeth and popcorn fingers. You beat yourself up for the things you’ve done in your past and can’t forgive yourself for anything long enough to actually get to the present. You’re a sunken canoe in a river of lost causes and abandoned hope.
Eat a stick of dynamite and abstain from attending bonfires. Wash your hair in a lake and catch the rash that lives in the shoreline urine. Bright light ignites your face in what is otherwise darkness and your dog lies on your bed in contempt. Empty food bowls and dirty water. You got it wrong again and you’re bound to finish last. Washed up and forgotten by yourself. A gravel king with no crown and no high back chair to hold court in.
You’ll eat from the trash when the clock strikes midnight and it doesn’t matter how you show up because if you were once a loser, you’ll always be a loser and you’ll never forget those words. Delivered to the door. Delivered to the desk. Books thrown about and you weigh more than you want to. It’s all part of the fun...says the man hiding behind the desk. It’s not surgery. It’s not brain science. It’s just life and you’ll be fine.