Lessons of a Sorry Life

I. The last time you’ll be truly held is by a doctor when they are giving you away to a mother. The doctor broke their promise that you’ll be safe and the mother kept their promise to run far away. You’ll learn to lie four years later when they ask you if you hate her.

II. The last time you will sleep is when you close your eyes as a child and wake up to a nightmare. No dreams hurt the way a fist does and you won’t sleep long enough to hope you don’t wake up. You’ll learn to get along with the world by closing your eyes and calling it rest.

III. School won’t ruin you the way you ruin you, but it sure helps ruining your views. Kids are mean and they have an easier time pointing out your mistakes than the ones on the chalkboard. They all bleed the same, and for the rest of your life you’ll remember how weak the body is when you punch one of them in the face for telling you how ****** they think your life is.

IV. No one cares about age the way they care about a **** with a mean face. That’s unsafe the way a gentlemen or lady carrying a gun can get away with. You’ll learn to be a gentlemen and not fit the suit, but it’s too dangerous to be yourself in a world that will lynch you for it. Forget too **** young to shoot someone, when one’s never more than 100 feet from a gun.

V. Cherish the people that care enough to check on you, because sure as hell you don’t care for you. They’ll leave the exact way you lay out the Exit mat, and never look back. You’ll be checking over your shoulder even when you’re sober, call it ‘looking out for my demons’ but you’re just looking at where you left the ones that fought them.

VI. Death is always a variable when your father is riding the bullet train stationed in their skull. You have a lifetime seat with your name on it and no one else cares if you take or die with it. A serious case of psychosis with a serial number, and you’ll be last in line before someone tells you you’ll be fine.

VII. You’ll hope this list ends the day you die