bugs from my skin. The bullet I fired years ago has come back around time to sever the tightly fed tape that splays my life over brick and stone. Deja Vu. One step behind. I can rarely find the words you want to hear the most. Patronize my heart, dear child, for your sustenance. After all, the bomb we dropped together left the hungry world wanting safety above all. Go for it. I can't claw the bugs from my itching skin, so bathe me in money.