Drunk. In the attic because they said I can’t stay here anymore. Nobody knows I’m here. I was on the front porch smoking a cigarette when he pulled up. I raised my eyes and he was looking at me. He said, “what are you doing here?” His face was hard and his eyes were stone, cold.
“I don’t know… I can leave.”
“Yes you can. And you will, after last night. You will never stay here again.”
I would love to live somewhere else where I wasn’t a burden, I would love to live a life that was my own. But the truth is, I have nowhere to go. I have nobody…
I fantasize a lot. I picture it, I feel the gun in my hand, the stop or go decision and the power of a second. Now, I know my life is nothing. A grain of sand, a drop of water, a dying star amongst millions alive and thriving.