The retainer where she was put
Was made of concrete. My father told me they had
Dug the grave first, then poured the concrete in, waited for
It to dry and harden, then hammered in six
Circular spikes in the four corners, two on either side
Of the middle. They lifted the concrete cast out with a crane.
My dad was going to be charged 300 dollars a day for the rental,
But because of the circumstances, Home Depot let us have it for free.

-

Where was she?
Where had she gone?
Would I see her face again?
Would she want me to
Meet her on the other side of the river?

-

I answered my cell phone.

"Make sure to bring flower's."
She had been crying. Her voice wavered the way sun light
Does on moving water.

"Make sure to bring flowers," she repeated, "And
That you wear what your father and I bought you."

I nodded my head with the receiver pressed up against my ear.
We both let out a sigh. My mom hung up. I put my phone in my back pocket.

-

Lately, I had been seeing a shrink about repetition. He liked to use the word cycle.

"Everything is repeated," I would tell him.

"Life is a cycle," he'd disagree so to get me talking.

"Can cycles be identical?"

"Technically not. Some cycles are extremely similar, but no two cycles are
Completely the same. Are two people's lives ever exactly the same?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know that many people. Maybe."

"You know lots of people, Camden. You have told me about many of your friends."

"Are we talking about the seasons?" I asked, changing the subject, "Like fall, winter, spring, summer? We are born, we live, we die, and we are born again?"

"That's a very natural way of looking at it."

"I know it is." I inhaled deeply, swallowing air and wondered what time it was.

"If you are so sure, why look for validation from me?" He liked this one, I could
tell. I imagined him shopping for clothes and then exploding in aisle 16 because of a sale on jeans.

"The word cycle is used by people too afraid to use the word repetition. Everything is
Repeated for the next generation, the next group, the next of the next of the next. We shift things
Around, give things to one another to shift life to make it look different, but, things remain the same. Everything contains the primal function we were all doing and living from the very beginning, only now, there is more of a separation. Music is still music, words are still words, paintings are still paintings, love is still love, death is still death, only done differently and more intensely."

"We are talking about man furthering technology because we, as people and creatures, are
Statistically more prone to flee than fight?"

"Why do you think it has caught on so quick?" I touched both
Corners of my lips with my tongue and suddenly realized I hadn't eaten breakfast.

"It is a theory," the psych nodded, "A theory with, I am sure, many
Palpable facts you could make a very nice report with to prove...something." He
Was at a lost for words and I felt guilty that my mom was paying him $75 an hour.

"We are very split. There are too many of us. Too many hands spinning the china."

"Who is we Harry?" The psych hadn't looked up from his pen and pad of paper, until now. I could
Tell he was annoyed with me either because he was making no progress or because the session
Had just begun and I was already digging into him.

"Culture. The government. You, me, my dad, my mom, the taco bell cashier, the geniuses at Apple computers, a paper weight, my dead sister. We're all apart of these shifts, all putting in a certain amount of energy and lies to keep the protection of the projection going. The question I keep asking myself is: do I want to use my strengths to be apart of this cycle or not?"

His eyes flared open for a moment like he'd swallowed a firefly, not at the question I had posed for myself, but from what I would soon see was from the mention of my sister. He had something.

"I was notified by your mother that you may not want to talk about your recently deceased sister. Is It O.K. if I ask you some questions about her?"

I was leaning forward on the couch with my hands clasped in between my legs. The psych had looked up at me now. He was sweating at the top of his thin hairline. Observing that I was staring at his building perspiration, he, trying to be nonchalant, took out a thin, white napkin from his grey shirt pocket and dabbed the top of his head. The napkin looked like cheap toilet paper. I'd have offered him some water, but I had no water to give and I didn't know where the sink and cups were to give him any. I figured he did - it was his office - so I asked him for some. He pointed me in the direction of the bathroom. I got up and found a stack of paper cups. I poured myself a cup and went back to the couch, but instead of leaning forward, I sat back, relaxed, and let the expensive leather couch take the weight I had been carrying away.

"So," the psych maintained cooly, "Would it be alright if we were able to discuss your sister?"

I lifted the paper cup over my head and the psych's eyes, after I poured the water over my hair, my face, and clothes, was a mixture of what my mom's eyes looked at the funeral, defeated, confused, and with a loss of faith and hope. My father's eyes had only held hate, anger and the need to lash out at someone, but the only someone that would have fit the bill would have been God.

"Sure," I answered, "Let's talk about my sister."

-

I finished drying myself in the car. The psych had let me keep the towel.
I leaned out the window to look at myself in the side mirror. I looked fine.
Presentable. Accountable. Like I had been through something where I had
Faced my soul. Like I had used and abused my emotions. There was comb in my glove compartment, so I took it out and rushed it through my damp hair. Slicked back. The sun
Was out, no clouds, burning up the inside of my car. That taste that comes after
Finishing something that's supposed to do you good didn't come. I was left with an unsure hand.
Putting my keys in the ignition, I turned them, and felt the engine rumble in front of my legs.
The sun sat in the sky like a lazy hand and I had nowhere else to go but home.

-

"Let's go to the river today," my dad said over coffee and two over easy eggs on top
Of burnt wheat toast. "I'll drive and you and your sister can sit in the back and sing."

I looked over at Ally. She was gazing into her fruit bowl she had prepared for
herself because dad didn't understand the concept or how to make it. The lamp light above us
reflected in the smooth apricot yogurt and the flecks of granola scattered on top
looked like beige, jagged rocks. My dad's offer hung in the air and neither
of us bit the lure. I had just woken up and was unable to speak clearly, a decent
excuse. Ally was simply choosing to ignore him.

"What you think there Ally?" I asked her. I sipped my coffee. It needed more cream. I got
U, got it and brought the carton to the table.

"We can take the truck down there and load the back with the fishing poles and tackle
And inner tubes. We haven't...done that...in a long time," he said, chewing his food as he spoke.

Ally poked her fruit bowl with her spoon, silent.

"What you think, Cam?" My dad was desperate. He knew I'd say yes.

"Sure. I've got no plans this weekend."

"No schoolwork?"

"It can wait till Sunday. Only math and some reading."

"Ally, what do you think?" my dad asked, leaning over to her. I could see he was
Trying to be as courteous and gentle with her as he knew how to. I felt bad for him.

"Sure," she muttered, "That sounds like fun." I could barely hear her, but somehow,
I could tell she sounded happy.

"Perfect," my dad smiled, "We'll pack the car up Friday,
Drive up Saturday morning early, camp one night, then get back Sunday afternoon." He
Took a long sip of his coffee and swished it around in his mouth, then dug
His fork into the dry toast and ran his small steak knife over the eggs. A silent pop came from
The egg and the light orange yolk spilled out. "Perfect," he repeated, "Just great."

Ally poked a grape from her fruit bowl and dipped it into the yogurt.
I took another sip of my coffee and looked up into the fan, spinning above us.
We were going to the river.

-

"Your sister turns five today," my mom told me, "And that means
I want you to be on your best behavior."

I nodded, unsure what the point of a birthday was. I had had one before, or at
least I thought I did, and all I remembered was that I got presents and the colorful balloons
and the cake we all ate with fire kind of floating and burning above it. Somewhere
in that moment I remember thinking that the cake was going to catch on fire, then they, everyone,
some that I knew and some people I had never seen before, yelled and shouted to
blow the fire out, so I quickly did, but not because it was for a wish, which I later found out it was supposed to be for, but because I truly thought the cake was going to catch fire and they wanted me to take care of it. At that point, I was unsure what it meant to be alive or why to celebrate it all.

"This is her day, Camden," my father told me, "So I want you to be happy for your sister."

"I am," I said. I was wearing my favorite white and blue striped t-shirt and
New shoes that my mom had bought me for the party.

"Sometimes you have to think of other people," my mother continued, "And today is one
of those days. I don't want any crying because you didn't get any presents or that none of your
friends are at the party. There are going to be a lot of Ally's friends there, but not many
of your's...do you understand?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Do you understand, Cam?" My father repeated. His skin was the color of a burnt
pancake and he smelt like stale sugar and sun tan lotion. He was in front of me and was
holding a thin magazine with a man in a boat holding up a fish on a line on the cover.  

"Yes, Dad," I said again. I was hungry. I wanted mac n' cheese, my favorite food.

I had been on the floor, laying on my stomach watching Ren and Stimpy. They were standing in front of the television and I remember trying to wish them out of the way. Behind them were two, large bay windows where three palm trees stood in a row like tropical soldiers. I could see there was no wind because the three of them stood still, as if posing for someone. Their leaves were bright green, a mixture of the neon green Jello I used to love to eat and the orange Jolly Rancher my dad would always have in a tiny tray in the middle of the dining table. My mother hated having them there because it always tempted Ally and I, but he never moved it until he moved out.

"Do you like your show?" my mom asked, turning to see what I was watching.

I nodded, absently. Ren was licking Stimpy's eye because he was complaining about having
an eyelash in there. Stimpy was completely still and smiling like he does - dumb and content.

"Interesting..." my mother trailed off. She walked to the kitchen behind the couch and
Opened up the pantry for something. "You hungry, Camden?"

"I'm starving," my dad said, "Let me go check on Ally in the bedroom. She should be up
from her nap."

I got up from my stomach and sat back on my legs, "Do we have mac n' cheese?" I asked.

"Let me check."

She reached up for the cabinet over the stove where I could never reach and
Opened it. I rose slightly up from where I was sitting to see if I could see the glorious dark blue and orange package, but wasn't able to see over couch. I hovered there, still like a humming bird.

"You're in luck," I heard her say, "We've got one box left."

"Yay!" I screamed and got up, running into the kitchen.

"But," she smiled, stopping me, "You'll have to share it with your sister."

"No! I don't want to! I always have to share."

"What did we just talk about Camden?" she said, lightly stamping her foot.

I tried to remember, but couldn't. I shrugged.

"You need to learn to share, Camden. You also need to listen better when your father and I are talking to you. You and your sister are going to know each other a very long time and I want you to learn how to share now, so you two can be happy in the future."

"The future," I asked, "What's that?"

She paused, then said, "It's a time," she paused again, "Ahead of us."

"Do we know where it is?"

"Not exactly," she sighed.

"What's it look like?"

"No one really knows. People can only imagine it."

"Is it very far away?"

She opened the top of the blue and orange mac n' cheese box and poured the dry macaroni into a large silver ***, lifted the faucet, and let it run inside for five or seven seconds. She placed the *** on an unlit burner and turned to look at me. Her eyes looked far away and right there with me.  

"Closer then you think," she said and turned the burner on.

-

I turned into the taco bell parking lot. There was something I was trying to remember that was in my trunk, but I couldn't recall the picture. A haze blew over the windshield that was a mix of heat and wind; I wished to be somewhere else, someone else, someplace else, but, there I was, sitting there underneath the sun, like everyone else. If I was able, I would have unlocked the door to my car and opened the door and walked out - but - there was something else lingering underneath my fingernails, something I couldn't name.

"Two tacos," I said into my hand, "And a water."

"Pull to the window," the voice buzzed over the muffled speaker.

"Yes," I said through my split fingers.

In front of me, over a patch of clean cut green grass and a yellow, red, and orange Taco Bell signature sign, was a fresh gas station with a willow tree *** near the front entrance. He had a sign that hung around his neck that read Juice Please - Very Thirsty. How I knew this was because I had seen it every time I had been asked to fill up my dad's car every other Sunday. I had never given the tree a dollar, yet, I felt that I owed him something. I tried to pull up to the window, but my clutch was grinding and a cloud slunk overhead. I was tired and only wanted to eat.

"That'll be a two twenty-five," the voice said through the thick, clear glass.

"Yes," I said to myself, digging into my wallet for three dollars.

I ****** the three onto the thick plastic platform. A quick sweeping plastic brush pushed the bills toward the asker, and the bills were gone. I had no food. I had nothing. My money was gone and all I had was a gurgling car in front of me and an empty front seat beside me. A pair of clouds waded by my front shield window. A shadow drew itself out in front of me like a **** model. A beep. Sudden and behind me. There was sound. I looked over my shoulder and a black  2013 Cadillac was sitting there, windshield tinted grey, the driver a shadow. I was unsure what to do...so I pulled forward six inches, hoping the offer would be enough. I wasn't in the best neighborhood.

The window to the left of me slid open. An arm erupted forward with a plastic bag,
"75 cents is your change."

The hand dropped three quarters next to the plastic bag. I grabbed the bag with the two tacos and three quarters and quickly wound up my window. The face in front of me was a dangerous blur: smiling, frowning, not caring either way what happened to me next. The hands had gobbled up the three dollars and I was happy to see it go. Who needed money? I tossed the plastic bag onto the passenger seat and sped off two blocks for my grandma's house. Salvation. The holy land. A place with free hot sauce and two dog's that were stolen without paper's. Eden.

-

"What are you learning right now?" I asked Ally.

She hesitated, then said, "Something to do with science." She paused," Lot's to do with rock's."

"Rocks?" I stammered, not remembering a time when I learned about rocks in school, "What kind of rocks?"

"I don't know," she grinned, looking up at me, "All kinds."

I laughed and kicked a stone into the river. The sun was out and reflected on the water like an unpolished diamond. We had grown up a quarter mile away, but still, it felt foreign to us.

"I like it. There's some things you could see that you would never think to read about it in books."

I had read plenty off books. Most, I took little from, but Ally, I could see, had taken plenty.

"What are you doing in school?" Ally asked me.

"What do you mean?" I

School was always humuorous to a degree in my opinion because of the underlying idea
that the more damaged you were, the cooler you were in the eyes of the rest of the school.
I have heard numerous conversations that began with something along the lines of, "Oh, you
think YOU got it bad, well my dad blah blah and my best friend blah blah and my life is hell."

I decided to get a little personal and share with you guys something I have never actually
told anyone in entirety yet. I am pretty sure the whole story is still only here in my brain.
I will, out of respect for these people, change their names.

It's October 31, 2012. It's about noon, and all of us sixteen to twenty-two year olds are just waking up.
Brianne woke up probably a few hours ago already to tend to her son, Aaron. He is adorable, one
and a half, blond hair, blue eyes. I have been living here for nearly two months. I am supporting her,
Aaron, and myself with food stamps. I get two hundred dollars a month to basically smoke **** and drink
on the government's budget. Trust me, I'm not proud of it either, and if I could I would pay it back.
Since Brianne is a single mother and an adopted child, she has a single-digit monthly rent (I was *******
baffled to hear this) and receives support from her foster parents. Basically, if I want to stay here forever
with absolutely no consequences save to miss out on a life of my own, I can.

Brandon is putting on clown make-up so he can troll the streets as a juggalo. I find this amusing as I always
liked to mess around with ICP fans, but he's a really cool kid so I let it go and I even help him perfect it.
I notice he has a bottle of Stolichnaya in his backpack and it's practically full. That, to me, is temptation.
I ask if he would mind me taking a few drinks here and there from the bottle and he says it's fine, so I proceed
to get a nice one p.m. buzz. It was always my favorite drunk, very light, and airy, almost like you're still asleep.
Something bogs you down, but it doesn't bother you, somehow it makes you lighter.

For the rest of the day, we hook up with a few friends, go out and trick or treat in the pouring rain, get soaked
and wait for two hours under an overpass while Brianne goes and gets her car. From there, we proceed home.

At this point, everyone is over at Breanne's and we're all making dinner and drinking beer and having a good time
(Aaron is with the grandparents tonight). I guess I started getting angry about the recent events (for about a month,
everyone in our group with the exception of Brandon have been slowly losing items...but they're obviously being stolen.
At a point, a few of us did some research and determined the only person who could possibly have stolen
a good deal of these things has to be Brandon) and I decided I was tired of sitting on the news waiting for no one to make
a move after a solid two weeks of being certain that we had our guy. So I called him out... and proceeded
to begin burning bridges slowly and very surely for the next few days. I am pretty sure a fight would have broken out
if Bri hadn't taken me into her room to relax. When I finally do, it turns out I woke up the upstairs neighbor,
her baby, and everyone in the house has left save for my friend Jeff and his girlfriend Marissa. This concludes night one.

I later learned that Brandon was not actually the person who was stealing from us (unless of course
he just happened to not get caught when we found out who had done most of it) and I feel bad for bringing the whole
thing up because I would have liked to stay in touch with him. We got along swimmingly and he actually did have
a lot of interesting things to talk about. Smart, nice, hilarious... Well, maybe he'll turn up one day.

The next morning, I woke up to find the house empty save for Jeff and Marissa in the next room, but where I am,
it simply appears empty. I don't know what happened but I intuit that I have been sleeping all night without
my girlfriend. This upsets me and I begin to weep like a confused child, which is exactly what you do when you're
helpless and too drunk in the brain to figure out how to pull yourself out of a helpless situation (trust me,
I own the handbook). Marissa walks in and begins to explain to me that I had scared her too much and she slept
on the couch and that she had left to go pick up her son. So I realize I need to calm down, but I can feel
Jeff is not happy with me in the slightest, considering he will not come and talk to me (this is extremely painful
because he is probably one of the best friends I have ever had, with a mind that vastly exceeds that of everyone
I have met save one other, and he's a different story). They leave and I decide to stay in the house all day.

This is a very bad idea. I stay home, watch re-runs of a show I have seen billions of times, and considering
that Brandon and I are no longer on good terms, like a complete *******, I drink the rest of his *****.

In walks Bri, it's around 7. She's not happy. She proceeds to tell me that the night before I asked out a friend of mine
and she said yes. And I was a bit shocked because I couldn't remember it at first. Then it all hit me.

A few days before, Aaron called me "dad." Now remember, this is not my child. I am dark, dark, dark, and she had this kid
about two years after we had any past relationship. I am extremely worried in my mind and I realize I am headed toward nothing.
That I am stagnant and can not even afford to go back to school. This scares me, so I drunkenly asked out Tanya.

Tanya...we had been friends for about five years, and I had tried to get with her so many **** times... she was like
one of those girls you see and you're instantly reminded of an anime character. Tall, thin, beautiful hips, perfect
proportions, lovely hair, eyes, voice, and a personality I can liken to a Disney princess/black metal lumberjack.
The kind of girl who has a tough exterior, but inside, she just wants someone to tell her everything is going to be ok.

After about two hours of pleading with Bri to let me stay, I finally send Tanya a message, and we hang out for the next
two days, whence I whisper in her ear that everything is going to be okay and we proceed to have quite passionate ***
for those nights, where I discovered the secret to making a woman ****** with my tongue (tip: if the underside of your
tongue isn't completely torn apart, you're doing something wrong). But alas, I could not stay.

This is the part I dreaded, because I know I have to go back to Jeff's house and ask him if I can stay there for a while.
And I got the answer I expected.

The words he used...

"I'm *******...extremely ******* at you, and disappointed." It was like a father saying it to you. And him and I
have a very interesting friendship built on such an extreme understanding that I knew exactly how badly I had been spiraling.
I began to leave and he gave me a slice of pizza, with that slight smile that told me "just go find yourself, we'll be fine."

I hobbled off into the night drunk, with one piece of pizza and all my food at Bri's, which could have lasted me another few days,
easing the transition into homeless. And it could have prevented a horrible occurance that took place the following afternoon. I
was crying, because I knew I was dying, but I didn't want to ask either of my parents for help, because this was the first time
I was out on my own and I was far too proud to give up and let the world make me its victim. So I walked...

Sixteen ******* miles...

To the next town. Took me all night because I was dodging traffic, easing into trees, avoiding on and off ramps, trying to stay
away from any police that may exist on the road. When I finally arrived in the next town (where I knew I may have one contact)
I decided to sleep until the morning came so I could have the energy to find my next venture.

It was five thirty am. I had 3 hours until sun-up, I had just walked enough to be burning, and there was plenty of whiskey in my veins.
I had left my sleeping bag with Tanya hours earlier, wishing in the park that I had not been so naiive as to think I would be allowed
back in the house. So I pulled out a pile of ***** clothes and put them over me like blankets, in some random corner of the local
park, under some bushes, hidden from cold and sight, with great hope...

Fifteen minutes pass. My eyes shoot open. I am freezing. The sweat has dried and frozen to my body. This is hell.

I grab my things and with the worst effort I can ever remember myself mustering, I drag myself to the toilet.
When I open it, the first thing I check for is cleanliness. It's spotless. I am so relieved. I sit in the corner of the room,
which my knees to my chest, head in my hands, wrapped in a leather jacket I had gotten from Jeff (ha, he really is my
guardian angel, though he would laugh to hear it).

I catch winks, occasionally looking up to check if the sun is rising. When it finally is, I get up, change my clothes (I had
ONE clean set of clothing and it had been rotting with the rest in the backpack) and immediately head to a thrift store where
a family friend is working.

On my way there, I notice in a little parking lot near the store a sight I had never actually come across but I always thought
would be the most amazing luck, and it was timed in such a spot in my life that it was the ultimate miracle...and a curse in
disguise.

In front of my eyes (this miracle appeared in my path as I was walking looking down, so it startled me) was the worst possible thing
for me: A half finished fifth of Smirnoff, and a half smoked pack of Marlboro 100 Reds. I open the pack and sure enough, the celophane
protected every cigarette inside from any water damage. I am ecstatic. This is not only amazing, but highly unlikely.

So I down the bottle in one go and take the rest of the smokes with me.

When I arrive at the thrift shop, it turns out I am there on a day when my potential savior is not working, so I get her number from the clerk
and head over to a payphone and realize... I have no money. So I decide to go on a quest for dropped pocket change.

Before I even leave the parking lot, I see a young man, no older than 23, sitting on a nice red classic-style Corvette and he's
reading William S. Burroughs. So naturally, I decide to strike up a conversation with the young man. Turns out he's the nicest guy
and his name is Jordan. So him and I got together and decided to go out for a game of disc golf (some may not know what this is;
Imagine frisbee but with a golf theme, so you need to get from a tee pad into a basket. Really fun, centering, and extremely popular
with potheads, Californians, beer-drinkers, and hippies) and before we go, he asks if I would like to snag a few beers first.

I tell him a piece of my story and he can tell I am down on my luck and broke so he decides to help me out. He buys us both some beer
and we proceed to disk.

Turns out he's an ex-****** and has been through quite a bit of hell himself, so we find that we're in a good position to help each
other make some better decisions in life. After the game, we go over to a payphone and he gives me money to call my friend.

Buzz (this the only name I am not changing because her name is ******* badass) answers the phone and unfortunately informs me that
though she would take me in any day of the year, she just moved in to a house with one older lady she takes care of, and its a single
bedroom apartment, so there is just no way it can work.

So I go back to his car and tell him the news, and he says he thinks he may be able to put me up for a few days until I can sort
everything out. We go back out to the store and grab ourselves a fifth of *****.

We end up in the park playing music, talking, performing standup for one another, and I begin to realize I am drinking too fast,
so I try to ease back a little. He was playing a version of a Radiohead song I had never heard before

"Everyone this way. Okay, get your hands against the wall. Spread your legs. Don't move."
The doors clanking, some ******* won't shut up in the next cell over.
More slamming of doors, someone rubbing my body all over trying to find my knives, no doubt.
And my AK 47 I conceal, and my ****, and my ... oh ****, I really did have **** on me.

"Move forward. Turn around. Alright, go to bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

"Get up. Come on, slowly... There you go. There's a few more coming in so we got to get you to another cell."

Clank, clank...

"Pick a bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

Something is wrong. This bed is not covered. There is no comfort. It's just a mat. And I have no pillow. This is not a house
of any sort, my bag isnt what I am sleeping on. Something is very wrong here.

I am in jail. Oh of course.

I know the answer before I hear it, but I ask anyway: "What are my charges, ma'am?"

"Drunk in public."

-------------------------------------------------------­------------------------

I'm about thirty miles or so North of inner Seattle. Not a bad place to be. I'm working for a Safeway. It's somewhere around
the first of June. I receive word that Bri has been on ******. And I may have left at a crucial time in her life thinking
only of myself, but I needed to go somewhere I could be productive. Yet my decision left her in a position where she turned
to hard drugs...

I can't help but feel I am to blame. I am listening to the dull, stupid words of my ex boss, Rod, who is telling me
that even though I may feel like I need to help her, there is nothing I can do for her, so I should bury myself in my work
instead. He tells me this in about six hundred different ways before I leave the room after twenty minutes. Well great.
I may have no focus here at work today, but at least I killed almost a half hour of the day just listening to someone
*******.

I am at a loss of what to do here, but I eventually get a hold of her, and after a long time not talking, we come to
somewhat of a closure, and she is beginning to sober up herself. I realize we were both in incredibly hard times, and I still
wish with all my heart there could have been some way I could have helped her raise that boy and stayed and been her
love, and at the same time, still go to college, and progress and get a good job...but I was in a small Northern California
town. There was nothing left, all the old shops were out of business. It was time for me to move on then, and we have
all seen better days for it. She looks incredible these days by the way. She lost an insane amount of weight, and I know
a lot of it had to do with the drugs, but if she truly is sober like she says she is, she'll be getting much better.

A few weeks ago 3 people I used to know and hang out with died in the span of a week. It was a terrible tragedy, and I have been
thinking back on all the names of people I used to love very, very much before they got lost in some way.

There's Lorne Holly, who killed himself after a few weeks of detoxing from crank.

Layla Harmon, who died in a car crash, blunt head trauma, with a drunk driver (I have a tattoo for this, I will never drive drunk).

Heavy Eagle, who killed himself after years of drug problems.

Chaz Lipman, who died in a car crash as well.

Ren Rain, who I am still not sure about...

And of course, Tray Beraldi, who was my closest friend's cousin... I wish I were there to mourne with him...

Last night I got a text from my best friend, who said he couldn't sleep and he barely eats anything anymore, and he feels like his throat
is going to explode, and he cant swallow and his neck is killing him constantly. He has been this way for a year, and he is talking constantly
about getting a gun and blowing his head off. And no one believes him because he constantly talks about it because he is in so much pain.
No doctor can diagnose him so far, he has no idea what's wrong with him, he's been tested all over the place, he has no hope, he's barely
cligning and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

All I really want to say is

Lord? What I have done? I don't pray, I never pray, I don't even know who I would pray to. But WHAT ELSE DO I HAVE TO DO?!

I bring myself across hell and I pull myself from the worst depression I h

(Solitary Chamber. Heart breaking melodious music is flowing silently. Young Ren is looking pale, soliloquizing.)

Young Ren:  Sweet Flance!
                     Can you hear me?
                     I do know you can never see me now;
                     But hear me --- my words at least!

Feel my heart that hangs on nothing;
Yet resting itself on my unrequited love.
  
                     Hear me! Do hear me!

Send thy spirit unto me awhile,
And hearken my silent words.

                     Dear Flance!
Thou must be now with thy partner
Breaking thy footprints with me once;
Yet ne'er am I angry with thee.
From him I should not take thee away;
Yet listen unto me awhile.

                      Dear Flance!

I loved thee not at the very first sight
Like Orlando and Rosalind ---
Orlando was a wrestler,
Rosalind was a fair lady.

Their love began at an arena in a contest ---
Rosalind in the guise of Ganymede,
Their love passed thro' rustic lands
Symbolizing the art of Nature,
Their love stirred the young hearts
With wonder and fancy.

Sweet Flance!
                       Romeo died of Juliet and Juliet of Romeo ---
                        Breaking endurance to chaos.
                       There was poison in their love.
Dear Flance!
                       Jealousy lingered in the fatal love
                       Betwixt Othello and Desdemona,
                       At night their love was born,
                       At night their love was dead
                       When blackened by the candle light.
Dear Flance!
                        Lysander loved Hermia
                        And sought fanciful beings
                        For their fanciful union.
Dear Flance!
                       Know you, Keats died of consumption?
                      His love for ***** Brown was limitless,
                      And so burst into tears.
                      Oh! No!
                     MY love for thee can never have comparisons.
Sweet Flance!
                     Blossomed my love for thee
                    When thou wert young,
                     When thou wert beautiful;
                     Yet it's not of Romeo's,
                     Of Othello's,
                     Of Lysander's,
                     Of Dante's,
                     Of Keats',
                     For they died of their love.





My love for thee be unrequited; yet ineffable.
You felt not my love; yet I cannot be Romeo.
Know you?
                Romeo loved Juliet,
                Juliet loved Romeo,
                And so they died without love.
Loved I thy heart, not thee?
Love I thy heart, not thee?
And so,
             We live in remembrance of each other.
Dear Flance!  
              Thou must be now living with thy partner
               Rejoicing in his presence.
               Can you think of me living myself.
               Rejoicing in my thoughts of you?
               Here am I in the air with wings waxed;
              Yet I'll not fall down to fragments.

              Know you?  
              I am to lead my life myself,
              But with thoughts of you!

              For
                    Loved I thee, still I love thee,
                                           Ever I'll love thee.

(Young Ren sheds tears)

Sweet Flance!

My tears are not of my loneliness sans thee;
But born of bliss within me with thoughts of you.

              (Curtain  Falls)

You pick up a dandy lion like a small-slit-prayer, and I watch you close your eyes.
It's warm out but you still wear your sleeves long like a subtle rebellion,
Yet all I see is that flower, and the pressed paleness in your finger tips
As you inhale.
It only took you a moment, like the words were already there before you spoke them,
Before you even bothered to look: all you needed was to close your eyes,
And breathe in to find them.
(Words I will never hear:
Delicate ellipses of closed eyes breathing in,
And opening; exhaling prayers out.)
But they ring in your smile.

"Immolate to what cause?"  I ask, and you make that face filled with annoyance,
Because I've done it again.
(Promise, though, it's not intentional.)
"You don't always have to use big words with me,"
But then you smile back and tell me it's not sacrifice: "It's flower petals
For the wind,"
And I hear the glitter in your voice.  
"It's the tip-toes from wishes, I'm letting them drip:
I'm helping them dance."
And I tell you with my eyes that your full of ****,
But you're just watching those tip-toes DISCO.

One day I ask you what it is you always wish for:
You see, by now, flowers reference you in fear,
But you just sigh saying you couldn't tell me.
You start saying something about carving out a blank slate,
But then the idea mumbles over and you're back on talking about your day.

We're out late somewhere, it's a June night, and summer is starting to sink in.
"Does that sweater keep you warm enough?" I say it mockingly a bit,
as I recline into the hill we're sitting on, and look at my bear arms,
And the tank top hardly covering my torso.
We laugh, through the stale humor we've come accustom to,
And you roll your eyes a bit,
But I can see the depth you're trying to cover-
I don't have to wonder much to know how deep it goes.
"What's it like always being that cold?"
And you lie back into the grass too
Not quite looking at much of anything.
"It's like having a field full of dandelions and nothing to wish for, "
You say in an exhale, and wondering eyes ,
"Like your still habitually searching for them."
And I can't see the glitter in you,
But I can still hear it in your voice,
And I understand that you're just trying to keep yourself wrapped up,
Because further down there's more than empty air pushing on dandelions,
But I don't know if you can believe that.
You see I've wanted to tell you how ironic those flowers are to me.
How I used to see you breathing out wishes into them,
And dropping the stems along with all your other small-slit-battles
That went unseen.  
But now I'm glad I kept my mouth shut.
"But if you could, you know, wish on a dandelion, would it be worth it?"
And you smile, with a laughter that's fresh this time,
Because you see that I might get it now,
"I think dandelions are ugly-
But I pick them in habit, there's something comforting about knowing they're there."

I ask you to take your sweater off,
Because, honestly, just looking at it is making me hot,
And you smiled like the request meant nothing but a joke.
So I left it in the air, like those small-slit-prayers,
And I hoped it'd cut through to something else this time.
"There's more to those dandelions than giving them to the wind you know."
And you look out into the field seeing them all.
"One day, there won't be a single one left,"
"Or one day I'll be warm."
I want to find the right way to tell you that your small-slit-prayers
Were landing wishes in ways you did not know,
But you got in an argument last week,
And it was too much of a struggle for you to see that they're still flowers,
So let them dance across your skin,
And wear those petals like power.
There's moments to let in,
So tell me wishes for them to devour.

Aren't we all just American Psychos?
Many of us don't realize that we're all the same.
Everyone; we're all alike on the inside.
Racism, sexism, calling people gay, and so on...
It needs to STOP!
Can't you see we're our own worst enemy?
American Pyscho; that's what we are if we're
Not willing to change.

Peace; What is peace again? It's been
So long since we've had peace, but we can change.
Yes, we can! Stop with
Calling people out and acting tough!
Here and now, we're in this together.
O**ne day, we'll live in peace again. *American ******

The darkness in his eyes
A true reflection of his pain
Led away from the path of light
He truly had no gain

As he walked from his family
Never to return, he mourned
As he looked into his dying father's eyes
Pretended that he didn't see forgiveness

He's truly broken
Inside, just a shell
Just a mad dog without a leash
As he watched as his Father fell

His mask hides his youthful face
Hides it as if it's a mark of disgrace
His lightsaber is as unstable
As his emotions, running wild

Many joke, his heart is a fable
That he's merely a metal figure
Programmed for Snoke's doing
Nothing is secure

He cut off his path to the light
But there
Is still hope
Of redemption

The galaxy's in turmoil, it's at an all time low
Luke Skywalker's been demoralised, all for comedic show
No substance for new character's, old heroes full of woe
What happened to the Star Wars, that we used to know

The Empire has been replaced, by the Order of the First
No real impact is achieved, we're not really that immersed
Screen presence is not felt, characterisations at its worst
The legacy of the Jedi, is downgraded and disbursed

Luke's a Jedi like his father, so why would he elope
The Disappointment of this film, is on a massive scope
Star Wars fans are ridiculed, their on a downward *****
Galactic empires did strike back, but after a new hope

Jedi knights a force for good, they wouldn't just give in
Princess Leia flying through space, well wasn't that a sin
The saga of the Skywalker's, pushed aside for Rey and Fin  
Don't bring back legacy character's, to throw them in the bin

Luke's too out of character, it doesn't make no sense
Strong villains do not exist , so there is no recompense
The shallowness of General Hux, a lack of real suspense
Kylo Ren's fake saber duel, this fight was far from tense

Evil rulers are no more what kind of name is Snoke?
He's hardly Emperor Palpatine, he's just a head scarred bloke
Like most of the new character's, well what a ******* joke
The menace of the sith is lost, Since the force awoke

Wooden character's we don't want, I know this may sound mean
Kathleen Kennedy please keep away, from the Star Wars scene
We don't want Holdo, Rose and Poe, clogging up the screen
Admiral Ackbar was killed off, and it wasn't even seen

Rian Johnson's head is round, he looks like BB8
Unfortunately his movies ****, and his stories are not great
Redemption for true Jedi knights, I know it's not too late
A Jedi Master Ivan is,  The Last Jedi's futures fate

This is our most desperate hour, after the cinemas first screening
Ivan your our only hope, the Star Wars fans are screaming
No true fan is amused, we wish that we where dreaming
"a gracious gift from god", is Ivan's first name meaning

Ivan Ortega is the man, he simply is the best
His flare for editing is supreme, he has film making zest
Unruly Star Wars script writers, he'll put them to the test
Movie making is his skill, Disney give it a rest

So come on now check Ivan out, on YouTube or Twitter
His vision of The Last Jedi, may stop you feeling bitter
Optimism flows like the force, because he is no quitter
He'll reunite the Star wars fans, instead of a film splitter

A dark time for the empire, with the Jedi in the mix
Dark side powers hasn't been seen, since Vader in part six
True Jedi Knights have not returned, nothing that really sticks
We need Jedi Master Luke, in Ivan's new Film Fix

What's up, Chicken Little? Whatchu think you know?
The sky is fallin', Skittles droppin’ out the rainbow.
Don’t hate me cuz I’m fast. Don’t hate me cuz I’m keen.
Hate me cuz I got more tiger’s blood than Charlie Sheen.

My rappin’ is a skill, wait, matter fact a habit.
This rhyme is so rare I threw a Masterball at it.
Ima get you to the point when you done think you had it
then keep on chuggin’ through like the Energizer Rabbit.

Runnin’ this game since I was born in 1990.
Ball so hard like Waldo everybody wants to find me.
Watch me as I fly free, practicing my Tai Chi,
soarin’ through the sky like Ben Franklin with his kite key.

I slay wicked verses like they fire breathin’ dragons.
Always down for an adventure so they call me Bilbo Baggins.
You got your feet draggin’ from all your pithy laggin’.
Chokin’ on my farts, left you in my dust gaggin’.

My girls be elegant while yours be nothing but ******.
No diamonds in my ears cuz I don’t like to be flashy.
You just can’t get past me, kilo in the backseat.
NOS tank in the front so them piggies can’t get at me.

Lyrics like the plague so they call my **** Bubonic.
Sittin’ at the bar gettin’ drunk on gin and tonic.
Blowin’ on that chronic, so fast they call me Sonic.
Watch me transform as I go Megatronic.

Is my **** too fast? You need to stop and smell the flowers?
I am just a human, I ain't got no special powers.
I could go for hours. The rap game I devour.
Like Frodo with the ring takin’ down the Two Towers.

My rhymes are heavy duty while yours be made of plastic.
Better call the Doctor cuz this **** is getting’ drastic.
Snap back like elastic, I made an instant classic.
Light the roof on fire with a flick of my matchstick.

I’m tellin’ all them haters that I’m wicked sick nasty.
Dissin’ all they want to but they too scared to come at me.
I go where the cash be, rappin’ makes me happy.
Don’t wash my hair for days cuz I like that **** *****.

All I really wanna do is have a rap battle
cuz my rhymes are so disgusting they’ll make your head rattle.
You’re in a boat with no paddle, on a horse with no saddle.
It’s lookin like you’re gonna hafta ******* straddle.

I know I have the sickest flow that you have ever felt.
There’s nothin’ you can do it’s just the hand that I was dealt.
Killa Kraig will make you melt, yes it matters how it’s spelt.
Get it right the first time or I’ll leave you with a ******' welt.

My game will give you chills from your head down to your feet.
Sittin’ on the couch cuz I love to chill with Pete.
I’m the man to beat cuz I bring all the heat.
Grew up in the burbs, didn’t grow up on the street.

They gave me a gold medal when I scored a perfect 10
cuz I got the versatility of an erasable pen.
Singin’ like a ren, no need to pretend.
Murkin’ rhymes like zombies like my Asian friend Glenn.

Honesty’s a virtue so you know I never front it.
Always swingin’ for a homer, ain’t no need to ever bunt it.
Now you really done it, watch me as I run it.
I made it to the center of the Tootsie Pop in one lick.

Crusin’ round town in my green 6-4 Impala.
Drop so many bombs that you think I worship Allah.
Dolla’ after dolla’, cute as a koala,
but ruthless as a renegade Viking in Valhalla.

My lyrics kick you in the nuts now you talkin’ like a munchkin.
Drop you to the floor like some Mohammed Ali punchin’.
Where is Conjunction Junction? Do the number crunchin’.
Get you home by midnight so you don’t turn into a pumpkin.

Stickin’ to the game like some universal duct tape.
Give you three tries while I nail it in one take.
I'm the sugar on the cornflake, the reason for an earthquake.
I'll toss you like a salad or a chicken in some Shake n’ Bake.

Now grab a pen a paper cuz here’s the final lesson.
I know who’s on first so now tell me what’s on second.
I did the number checkin’, I’m the best I reckon.
While you standin’ at the wrong end of my ******’ Smith & Wesson.

hvis vi var født i en anden generation, ville du
have givet mig oliemaling og A4-papir, da jeg
fyldte femten år gammel
i stedet for et gavekort og en buket røde roser
hvis vi var født i en anden generation, ville du
lade mig plante træer i din have og sætte alarm
til solopgangen
vores hjerter ville være døsige af ren kærlighed,
og vores ankler ville være ømme af berøringer
vi ville tale i lydbølger, der forbindes med farven
blå, og vores sjæle ville forme os sammen som
lejrbåle, vi undlod at slukke
du ville fortælle mig, hvordan mælk flød gennem
mine årer, og hvordan jeg var bygget af mosaik
hvis vi var født i en anden generation ville vores
læber tygge på sætninger, jeg ikke engang kan
få mine fingre til at skrive
hvis vi var født i en anden generation
ville jeg ikke huske dine mandelformede, elektriske
udspilede øjne, der fik mig til at grine med blodige
hofter og mord klistret fast som tape på mine hænder
hvis vi var født i en anden generation
ville dit navn lyde som poesi, og selv mit hjerte ville
danse som juniregn med duft af kastanjer
hvis vi var født i en anden generation
havde du måske modtaget denne voicemail, og
måske havde vi defineret det, alle andre end os,
kaldte for
os

when i told people in my first block class at school, a science class, that my favorite movie was straight outta compton, they all laughed.
and i guess i understood why. im a little white girl that was wearing a skirt that day. okay, so thats nice.
i guess i cant like things because i live in a pretty nice neighborhood and im white and im a girl.
but guess what.
i like straight outta compton because i understand the people part of it. like oh god.
i used to love going to the movies because i could escape my reality, which ***** more than people know because i dont tell them things sometimes, but i havent enjoyed a movie in years because every reality in my life has completely taken over and defeated me.
but maybe i like straight outta compton so much because for the first time in years, i actually connected with something that felt real to me.
yeah ok, its just a movie.
but watching the movie, i got to meet these characters and they became my friends. i dont care about how lame that is.
this is a poetry site. look at all the angst. and my gosh, look at that fourth wall i just broke.
ice cube is my friend. ren is my friend. yella too. all my friends, and i watched them get shoved to the ground outside their own recording studio.
because they were black.
and sitting in the movie theatre seat in my nice neighborhood in my white skin, i cried.
i cried my eyes out, because those actors onscreen were telling me a story in the personas of these new friends of mine.
i cried when eazy found out he had aids. just when nwa was about to get back together.
it was like watching a personal potential victory slip right between my fingers. it felt so close.
and i watched his body shake in agony. eazy cried. he had months to live.
in my white skin in my nice movie seat in my nice neighborhood where ive never had to watch anyone die, i cried because in that moment, all of it was real to me.
you cant explain something like that, not even to your friends.
in my nice neighborhood where there arent streetwalkers and people doing coke and peoples houses getting rammed down by the cops, my friends dont want to listen to nwa because of all the cussing.
and i think, there is so much that you miss if you initially reject it because you dont like it, because you think that it hurts your character.
hear no evil, see no evil.
you dont want the cussing floating around in your head.
its bad. its sinful.
but my gosh, its only words.
i dont think that eazy wanted the doctors diagnosis in his head.
i dont think that he wanted to deal coke and get almost caught by the police. i think he wanted to stay in the safe neighborhood with me in the nice movie seats crying about some other character on the screen that had their dreams crushed and their life taken.
i dont think that ice cube wanted to be taken advantage of by his manager.
i dont think i would like that either.
i dont like that people think that my friend, ice cube, isnt as smart as the little white girl in her biotechnology class. people might look down on him because hes black, or because gangsta rap made him do it, or because he didnt come from the nice neighborhood with the movie theater that i was crying in because my friends were being beaten.
maybe im crazy for saying this, but....i think maybe the movies arent supposed to always entertain us or make political statements or educate us or wow us with light shows.
maybe theyre meant to give us new perspectives we dont get because we live in nice neighborhoods with our movie theaters and our friends nwa that dont get to live here because they came from compton and got thrown in jail because they used their right to freedom of speech or got aids and died.
my friends werent all good. they did drugs and abused women, and im not okay with that, but i love them anyway, yknow?
because theres just one type of folks. not real or fictional, not actors and audience, not black and white.
just folks.
just friends.

the older generation
thinks we're all ****-heads,
ritalin-riddled serial killers,
serious ingesters
of buckets-of-blood thrillers,
they look at me funny
when I sag my pants
look at me funny
when I've got my girl in my arms
and her hands on my zipper
moving slowly
to the biggest dipper, too loud,
they say,
too loud,
too much cursing,
too much blood and gore,
too many games about getting money
and running over grannies to get more;
Ren and Stimpy,
and
Bert and Ernie,
two homos
that need to burn
for their sin,
the world is going
to hell in a handbasket.

The world was never going to end
in fire.
It was never thought to.
Now. Thunder comes on.
The raincoat boleros around the street.
   Momentous,
One two slow slow one two. Earth splits
/  an avocado, molten core discarded.

In the southern hemisphere they are waving flags.
Complimentary colors crawl up the sky tiding in.
They are dancing.
     Ba-cha
       -ta,
Me-ren-gue.
     Their hemisphere Charybidises,
trees genuflected.

Quiet. The puddles are sleeping.

In the north. The hemisphere has run aground.
It capsizes. All the bands are going
down playing.

Rain panics off the timpani
prisming.
The brass cherubs in the clouds.
The strings red shift.

At the equator,
an umbrella floats:
1 bird inside it.

She prays in single syllables. Help.
Please.
Quack!

Se⋅ren⋅di⋅pit⋅y n. 1. The uplifting, seemingly never-ending weightlessness brought on by a beautiful event of pure happenstance. 2. When light hits one's face, esp. a friend or lover, in just the right way, and every aspect of one's inner beauty is displayed: lying in the morning sun / the ghost of curtains over faces / dust mote flurries around sleeping figures / or under the dim glow of decorative lights / and digital clocks reading 3:06 AM / exposed hearts, exposed minds / out on our sleeves / your inner beauty visible externally / to the world, to me / your face aflame with embarrassing thoughts / my face aflame with visible affection / or lying out under the Milky Way / under the Universe / constellations and bodies of memories hang above our heads / and watch us grow from millions of years in the past.

Dad,
You don't get me,
You never have.
When I ran away,
Were you even sad?
Dad,
You wanted me gold,
I tarnished in your hands.
I fell through your fingers
Like grains of sand.
Dad,
You don't get me.
Especially not when
I told you to call me
Kylo Ren.

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I have had to **** you dear

Deer in the forest
Woods of my life
It was the
Closest I'd ever been to love
A fleeting glimpse
Shadows about the grey tents
Words caught on a hook
That shouldn't have been spoke
Into the ears that we pierce
On the street below the balcony
Or something that was in the way

I'm tired of losing this battle
The enemy at the gates
Behind me is crying
Because I can't be saved

But,

I'm not afraid of the ghost
The ghost is not afraid of me
I am the ghost that you fear
You are the one
That I must ****, dear

I hate it
The days in between
The milestones
That have been carved
Out of my bones
I hate it

When the shade hits my back
When can we go home?

I'll phone your best friend and
Tell her that I've always loved you
But her image has since disappeared
I lost you, out in the wilderness
The memory is not so clear
Anymore

Why didn't you come back?
Was his flesh enough to fill the hole
In your little life?
The cut across my neck
Bleeds and pours and sings for more
Of the taste of rust (iron blood)
From the knife
I once gave you there

So why don't you just **** me off, dear?
Like a deer in the forest
Hiding in the woods of my lie
The creator Is nauseous
I drank too much last night

Insomnia goes hand in hand with amnesia
What was I talking about?
Again. . .

Photograph by Michael J. Sullivan, 2010*

Listen up, you little *****, and let me
teach you a thing or two.  See this skull here,
poised and serene?  How do you know it’s poised?
It’s dead, for Christ’s sake! The only thing it’s
poised on in the edge of this stump—“ye olde
dead tree” holding “ye old dead head.”  He had
a name, you know—Yorick—I didn’t make
that up. I knew him; good friend of my mum’s.
     This sword here could have been what ran him through,
you know.  Coulda got him straight through the gut,
and you’re all sittin’ here admiring its
craftwork.  It’s the fancy hilt, isn’t it,
the bright metal chasing its own tail in
golden loops.  Warm yellow over cold steel,
that’s what you people like—spectacle, shine—
not dust and history, like Yorick over here.
     You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?  Only
thing these candles are good for, really.  They’re
tallow—stinking, smoky fat made by Jen
on her weekends off.  She doesn’t know much
about candles, but her *****’s Special
Draft is the best mead made for this dung heap.
     Anyway, I gotta ****.  Leave Yorick
with your tips, and remember: what glitters
here isn’t gold, just paint over old age.

Born into power and history
With a dark secret
What a hidden memory
A loving Family
Sensitive to an ancient force

A Skywalker yet a Solo
Only few knew of his heritage
Trained and honed by the last master
Sought out by the last
Dark sorcerer
Known only by one name
Snoke

A hidden link between
Vader and young Ben
Has been shown to all
The young ones have chosen
A new master

Master skywalker feels
He has failed
Like those who failed his father
Attempts to put an end to
Snoke’s darkness leach
On young Ben

An elite order
The knights of Ren are born
The new order is destroyed
Only like remains
Hunted and haunted by his past
He leaves to Ach-to

Ben Solo
Thought to have the power
Of his grandfather
With the blood of skywalker
May be with the darkside
But he will never be
A sith

Became the leader of
The knights of Ren
Half skywalker
Half Solo
Given his title
Kylo Ren

blålige hænder
skæve ben
rødvinsrøde øjne
plamager på halsen
mine vener græder
ren marmor under
negle, jeg ikke filer
hvad er der
at holde af og om
du må gerne
give slip, jeg
nægter alligevel
at være afhængig
af dig eller
nogen anden
i sidste ende er
det mig
alene og
heldigvis for det
ellers ville jeg da
dø af ensomhed

Oversized clothes
Dresses galore
Both of them
Fit to one gender

Sports jerseys
Baggy shorts
I want those
but I'm a "girl"

Perky dresses
Lots of makeup
I'm told I must
Because I'm a "girl"

Anxiety fills me up
I need to be perfect
I need to be a daughter
I need to be a girlfriend
a wife
a mother

Why can't I be a child?
A lover?
A ren?
A human?

Why do you have to choose for me?

SometimesIlookoutofthewindow
And                  Iwo            ­   nder
Ifwe                  eve               ndes
Erve                  this               beau
tiful                   pla                netw
Edidnothingtoearn,andtrytolooka
Tev      ­             ery                thing
Alit                   tleb               itdiffe
Ren                   tlyt               hanI'd
Bee                   nta                 ught
AllmylifeonthiswonderfuloldEarth