sometimes i tell people the reason i see my childhood like i've just downed a whole bottle of *****;
like a volcano has just erupted in the back of my throat,
is because when i was a child,
someone set flames to my home.
that i lost my childhood to a fire,
and if you could go back in time,
you would have believed that single match could have
swallowed the whole house.
whiskey lingered in every room,
the walls were drunk,
every day felt like my family was playing a game of jenga,
we were all waiting for someone's palms to fumble,
to make the whole house collapse.
and it was so easy because the walls were as stable as an intoxicated man walking on a tight rope.
but this whole story is a lie,
and the true story is that i swallowed the fire,
and i still have the photos scattered in my closet,
that taste like gasoline going down my throat.