split when I was two. He landed
in a mental hospital in a locked ward
where they fed him drugs to calm down
the noises in his head. I was beaten

by the *****. She dated a Politian
and ran off leaving me alone in the kitchen
in my own ***** and my ****. My daddy's
heart broke. He couldn't  come in. So, I sat

and stared off into space. I'm still doing
that this very day. But now I tell my story to
strangers. And sometimes I get paid for it -
the ones that are interested. They both died

at home three months apart. Both on the floor -
the ***** in the living room. My daddy in the
kitchen, after a horrible bout with cancer that left
him  a mere 108 pounds. Which do you think is worse?

Cancer will eat out your body, meningitis and
schizophrenia will take your mind. Then there's
little old me - the borderline