He gasps and and exales with his cheap door open.

I have a delima because...

How can he trust my honesty.  

We watched our son replay a delusion
How can we sit and tell him reality doesn't mean eternity.  
I'm only close...
He holds his licked breathing, one bridge  could hold his body in a
White pearly coffin.

No matter how he grows my husband forgets he is crazy.  Some how jobs go awry,  jokes, humor, pleasure and reality mean: he will die toothless and unhappy.  

I told him in a truthful drunken nite:  
You are homosexual because I never watched you kiss or grab a can of red paint.  He only works for his drunkedness.  But he gets better, because he want the music he can't transpose.  He wants something he can't understand to translate Into genuis.  I am a mother...
I am a women who can die from bee stings.

I hope he comes home before I fall asleep.