It's funny how memories work,
some are nice and soft like
the sweater you clung to in the
fifth grade when your family
stopped giving out hugs.

But others feel like they're
ripping out a vital *****,
typically your heart, and you
don't know what to do because
you never went to med school
like your parents always wanted.

You're sitting in your room on
the phone and then all of a sudden
a tornado is outside your window
and your ceiling is leaking and
you can hear the wind screaming
for you to just give up already.

The only time you've ever picked
up a hammer was in woodshop in
seventh grade but instead of making
a chess board, it's banging against
every wall in your head and a
chainsaw is cutting up your thoughts.

And so you get through this daily
hell the only way you know: by
counting breaths and dripping
tears on the coat of man's best
friend as you drift to sleep.