I almost forgot what it felt like.
You see, I avoid coming home as much as I can,
but there's always the blue moon. There's nowhere else to go sometimes.
And this time it happened.
The conversation about how my day was, boring details and all.
And the sounds of crickets, gently chirping in the woods.
The warm light of the chandelier.
A word flits across the dinner table and into the air, and there is sudden silence.
Everyone knows it was a mistake, innocent.
But  I sit at the dinner table and say nothing,
One part glad that it isn't me and one part guilty for the other.
I pretend I can't hear screaming.
I pretend that there isn't this feeling,
I had almost forgotten,
Squatting on the mashed potatoes.
It stares me in the face and whispers through the crackling in the air.
It speaks louder as my little sister says,
"Pass the salt."
It laughs at the irony,
and the illusion of safety sits,
split cleanly in half on the floor,
while the dog, oblivious, licks up the scraps.

I am the words of scorn on a child's lips,
for a sleepy, fetid home.

I am ingratitude, and spilt milk.
I am the frozen boxer, the burnt lightbulb.

I am the sickly mirror,
who peers into an illusion of identity.

I am pain, and nerve.
I am the one who waits.

A floating point value,
Of a test score four-years-old,
Can float away your dreams,
And leave you homeless in the cold.
A floating point value,
Defines the friend's we've built,
Watch them steal the you you were,
And drown in a night of guilt.
A floating point value,
Separates you year from year,
Defines your rights, your days and nights,
Your every sip of beer.
A floating point value,
Separating me from you.
Close your eyes, count to five,
And wake up someone new.

It's hard to live without *******,
Tied to powder by a chain.
"Help," I say, but no one knows:
I'm bleeding lifeblood from my nose.

It's hard to live without some *****,
Liqueur up and start to cruise.
"I want to die." I flip a penny,
Rev the car and hit one-twenty.

It's hard to live without some shrooms,
I liked my life as a cartoon.
"I'm broken inside," I tell my friends,
They laugh along, the world bends.

It's hard to live without some ****,
It helps to balance out the speed,
"I'm in danger," no one cares,
Buried under thoughts and prayers.

It's hard to live with conscious mind,
I need poison, make me blind.
Roll me, smoke me, snort me up,
Pipe, spoon, ****, or cup.

The moon breaks,
My head aches,
She pulls a gun,
To raise the stakes.
She holds me close,
She turns her nose,
She reaches out,
And time slows.
There is no fear,
Her lips are here,
I kiss her back,
and disappear.
She steps in,
For searing skin,
I cut her off,
it could have been.
But I know dumb and I know love,
I know her and the pain thereof,
We wanted each other for a moment there,
but I can't have another affair.

"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
For a moment, I almost tell him that I was born Jewish.
Or that I don't really believe in a God at all.

I almost tell him, "No."
But I look at his too-thin, pathetic face,
And at his cross necklace.
I notice his red shirt,
The blazing white shoes,
faded jeans without a belt.

I almost tell him, "No."
Then I remember that old trick I used to play.
knock knock knock. The door opens.
"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
The same look I'm giving him now, and the door closes again.
I rob the neighbor visiting his daughter in New Mexico instead.

I almost tell him, "No.
I don't have the time because I can't be redeemed, so *******."
I almost tell him, "Your God is a lie that your parents made up to keep you a ******."
I almost flip him off and say, "White America can *******."

I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate, because I marvel at his capacity to believe.

I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate. I look him in the eyes.
"No," I say, and I slam the door in his face.

The game stops being fun,
When you spend a night full-throttle,
And can't remember if your headache's,
from a needle or a bottle.
The game stops being cool,
When you throw up in your yard,
When you look inside your mirror,
And behind your eye's you're scarred.
The game stops being fine,
When you start to fear a hug,
Because you almost check their pockets,
For some money, for some drugs.
The game comes to an end,
When you realize what you are,
When you give in to your urges,
And you OD in your car.