This cheap bottle of wine worked better than my therapist.

A year has passed and I’m still looking
for pieces of my mind in the books
in the furniture, in the vents, in the mirror
It might’ve fell behind the wall
It might’ve gone down the drain
I can’t remember when I lost it
Just as I can’t remember when I lost my first tooth but
I can’t live to tell how it is without it
Or how the sounds are getting louder
Or how the food is getting worse
Or how the nights are getting longer
Or how my skin it feels rough
Or how I need it all to freeze
So I can find my mind
And be what they call a citizen.

After a while my
place smelled like a motel room -
not mine anymore.

Telling a kid that
Santa’s real is like you not
drowning in this liquor.

I very much  like your face when you sleep
When you’re not upset that I forgot one thing or another
When you’re not breathing fire
When you’re not crying lighting
When you’re not running away
When you’re not on the roof bare footed
When there seems to be a part of you that’s sane.