i.

the only nightmare my parents remember me having was immediately traced to my prolonged exposure to a select group of schoolchildren I’d bloodied for how they spoke to god.

ii.

the bus rides lasted long enough for me to cultivate the belief that no being is brought into the world.

iii.

drought’s teacher paddled me into reciting a prayer from a ghost town’s chalkboard.

iv.

father protected me by saying there’s a word for how you feel.  he was a writer because asemic writing had yet to occur in the randomly evil.  abuse was a star.