avoiding the same mistakes baked in genetically is harder than i thought; i only wanted to be worthy of my own pain, trying to be a noble man, a mountain of debt piled up from **** and beatings and gallons of midnight oil burnt, kerosene down the drain, fuel spluttering in a six-cylinder engine. i think i understand original sin now, one rib torn out, trauma passed to the bottom left. god looks down at me and wonders where i'm going. standing at the altar in His house with a stolen rosary and a hand dipped in the baptismal font as though it cancels out the theft like some game of divine arithmetic, heavenly haggling at the gates, staring at the pews like one does at a stranger's grave.