Inside are things forgetting, forgotten.
and then those forgoing, gone rotten.

Inside my mind I see scenes of nostalgia
and I am moved by the tripping of the reel.

Mother in the recliner, television running.
It smelled like cigarettes, and I am 9 and nicotine.

Mother is intoxication and the angry mean.
Mother is the reasoning.
Mother says life needs seasoning.

Something to make it worth while.
and I am 9, but i can tell her vice is vile.
She and him and those and them and they all smile.

Smile.
Smile.
laugh,
Inhale smoke.

Rough men are real.
Boys are jokes.
**** the love, it is a hoax

I am nine and breathing nicotine

Mother is intoxication and a greyer sheen.