Something here causing mold.
Something changing in our voice.
Nothing strange, it's nothing noticed.
But it's not a thing that should remain so solid.
As solid in life, like facts. Those knowing there is strife.

"I believe this to be your own problem."
I tell my son this every night.
After dinner.
After his mother calls and after his mother moves to bathe the day's sores.
In bed my son recounts to me his good deeds and other's misgivings.
And I think of young women I should have ******.
I listen and ignore his requests for good advice.

Do my words contain a sedative-like effect?
Or they are amphetamines?
Neither, but poison?

"Only God Can Judge Me"

I tell the man with needle in hand these words I want as tattoos.

              Tomorrow is Tuesday.