I'm sorry...

“I’m sorry” by MDW

I’m going to kill us. I’m going to kick that fat bastard in back of his head, smash his annoyance to the side window and we will die. The thought put a smile on my face. And then I saw his light brown eyes, and I thought could I really kill us all? Could I really kill him?

I didn’t get it until that night. I didn’t get it until I saw the fear and sadness in his eyes that I caused. Before, I was always apologizing. I had the tendency to act out, embarrass, cheat, push away. I guess I felt as if everyone was against me. I knew he was different but I’ve learned to be an idiot. I’ve had dealt with so much abandonment in my life. I figured it just a matter of time until the next let me down. And that’s how I loved because I couldn’t speak any other languages. I didn’t get it until that night. I left him standing in the middle of the street confused. It was the first time I saw myself, what I had become.

*******

Why won’t you trust me?

I don’t trust anyone.

How can you ever love, if you don’t trust?

Are you saying that you love me?

I could.

Why can’t I just forgive you?

What does that mean?

It means that you’re human and not perfect. You will fuck up. It also means, don’t make any assumptions that I put you before myself and I don’t. But I can always learn to forgive you.

That sounds like a bullshit response. Trust just means that you believe in me.

Maybe you will always do the right thing. Maybe you won’t. And I know your intentions right now is your heart, and maybe tomorrow it will be hate. I can’t predict. But I will always forgive you. Even if I’m not with you, I will always forgive you.

You don’t think love is trust?

No.

*******

Every time I’m alone I panic. My mother when I was eight years old left me in a hotel. That stupid selfish bitch. So I panic, every time I feel lonely. I was only eight years old so how the hell did she think I was going to get home. Anger. I tell him, he has to understand that I’ve been angry for a long time. I’ve been the kicked dog. I was the kid everyone picked on. I was bullied. And bad shit kept happening to me. Love never made sense to me. I had too much too lose. I was already broke. Loving myself never made any sense. I’ve tried. It was just a bunch of rambling hopelessly trying to be coherent. I never wanted love. I never dreamed of it. I never thought of a happily ever after. I was cool with being alone. I was safe alone. I didn’t have to care. Maybe if I would’ve had a better childhood.

********

So you saying that you’re hopeless

I’m saying it’s not easy for me. I’m not you.

And who am I?

You had a great childhood. Your parents are still together. You think everyone is like you.

I just want to love you.

You want the fantasy of your childhood and I’m trying to avoid the nightmare of mine.

*********
I would stare in the mirror from hours some days screaming at myself that I’m not crazy. And I wasn’t referring to crazy like eccentric or misunderstood, but beyond sanity like a rubber band that’s been stretched too far and comes slinging back like a monkey throwing its shit. It was more like a Rick James crazy, just a little too much cocaine and alcohol and suddenly I’m kidnapping hookers and locking them in my basement crying like a baby while I feed my hostages Lucky Charms. I’ve always felt different. I always felt like the freak. I was the kid with no parents. I was the kid with no home. I had no family. I was always alone. I went from one government “I don’t need no heroes” shelter to the next. I went from one family member to the next. And when I turned eighteen years old, I was alone for good. I was on the streets. And then there’s that anger. I’m fucking pissed off. I tried to hide it for years behind a smile or bubbly personality, but honestly, I was a fucking time bomb. I was more heartbreak from buying a gun. One day I decided to study happiness. I tried to mimic what it looked like on other people. I watched the sitcoms. I read the fairytales. I saw so many damn romantic comedies. I tried to fake happiness. I thought could cheat.

********

So what happened that night, your craziness.

I fucking snapped.

We were doing so well, I thought you were happy.

I tried to be, but I’m a tester.

What does that mean?

It means I have to test people to see if they would stay. It’s so easy to drive people away.

And when is the test over?

I haven’t figured that out yet.

*********

His name on men4sexwithoutlimits.com was "PrettyboySmiles". His stats said he was six feet and a hundred and fifty five pounds. He was versatile but looking for pentration. I was LonelyHungerBigDick. My stats claimed I was 6'1, 180s pounds, a versatile top with nine inches of attitude. It was supposed to be another empty internet hook-up at his place-- the scripted big dick meets hungry ass, eyes never meeting, only hands, mouth and tongue searching for pockets of warmth. Only the hard dick compromising its lust for fast love. When I got to his door, he smiled and I smiled and then I kissed him. It was different. I'd never done that before. And we just kissed for the next three hours. I don't remember even telling him my name. I just remember feeling safe like I kissed him before. I just thought he knew the story. It scared me. I had tried the love thing before and it didn’t work out. I was too much of a fuck up. I had every right not to trust the world. I was too destructive. I only knew destruction.

From the beginning, we were more than just sex. We talked. We told jokes. The sex was unbelievable. Before, I thought sex was a “use or be used” game. With him, sex became about freedom. I wanted him to see me. I didn’t look away or hide. I wasn’t embarrassed with my nakedness with him. I liked how he didn’t’ hold back. Being with him felt spiritual. I told myself not to take the experience too serious. It was just sex. But I was a fucking time bomb.

I didn’t get it until that night standing the middle of the street in the rain. I didn’t get it until I saw the fear and sadness in his eyes that I caused. It was the first time I saw myself, what I had become.

It all fell apart that night in the car. I had way too much to drink. I felt ignored. I felt confused and out of control. I tried not to snap. I tried to be normal, but no one was listening to me. I remember my leg shaking. I remember sitting in the backseat and my foot banged intensely against the floor like an angry Congo beat. I remember crossing my arms to my waist and holding them so tight against my sides like a straight jacket. I could feel the insanity rising like a volcano. I could feel myself lose control of the situation. I could feel myself becoming violent. And it was four o’clock in the morning. There weren’t many cars on the freeway. We were going eighty five miles an hour. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but I couldn’t trust anymore. No one was listening to me. I knew I was in love with him, but that scared the shit out of me. And no one was listening to me. I needed attention. Nobody was listening to me and it was pissing me off. I could hear the irrational voices in my head get louder and louder. I couldn’t turn them down. I tried to distract my impending insanity by stabbing my chewed down fingernails into my sides. I tried to count the cars we passed on the freeway. I tried to pay attention to the songs on the radio. But I kept shifting in my seat. And I wanted to kick him. I wanted to kick the driver in the back of his fat head. My leg started twitching violently. And that’s when he turned to me and smiled. He was in the backseat with me trying to keep me calm. I had way too much to drink. I wanted to be calm but I was panicking. I was so damn insecure. I felt alone. My feelings were hurt. Nobody was listening to me. I told the driver not to take the highway. I told them to take the side street because it was a lot quicker. But they wouldn’t listen. I knew how to get home. It was how I got home and they weren’t listening. I knew if I did it, if I kicked that fat bastard in the back of his head, he would slam against the left window probably cracking it. He would lose control of the car. As fast as we were going, I knew the car would flip. I knew if I kicked the fat bastard in his head, I would kill us all. I decided to just kill myself. I looked at the door. I saw the lock. I wanted to open the door and fling my body out on the highway. Nobody was listening to me.

*******

WHY DO YOU DO THAT!

I DON’T KNOW!

YOU EMBARASSED ME IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS. NOW THEY THINK I’M CRAZY! NOW THEY DON’T LIKE YOU!

THEY WEREN’T LISTENING TO ME!

HE JUST WANTED TO TAKE THE HIGHWAY.

IT’S NOT HOW I GET HOME.

SO YOU’RE A ONE TRICK PONY.

IT’S WHAT I TRUSTED. WHY DIDN’T HE JUST LISTEN!

YOU CAN’T LET ANYONE IN, CAN YOU?

NO.

WHY DO YOU DO THAT? WHY YOU ALWAYS ACTING CRAZY.

MAYBE I AM!

********

I knew I was in love because the need to destroy the relationship was like trying to resist the red button that was labeled “push me.”

*******

You weren’t like that when we first met. You seem sane.

I’m a good actor.

The person I fell in love with was an act.

I mean, I was hiding something. Don’t we all give our best presentation?

I don’t play games.

I wasn’t playing a game.

So what didn’t you tell me? What aren’t you telling me?

*********

It turned out that I couldn’t cheat happiness or love. It started to all catch up with me too damn fast--my past, my miserable childhood, my loneliness, how I was a fraud. I guess that was love. It’s quick sand and when you realize that you’re sinking, it’s too late. It started to undo me like thread that’s loose in a shirt. I had no idea it would come apart so damn fast. I had built my entire life on the lie I wanted to believe. I was completely empty on the inside, yet, it seemed as if I had everything. I had the look. the car, the apartment, the sparkling smile. I had studied the happiness well. I wanted what it looked like not what it meant. I was a fucking “A” student. I had studied the fantasy like the bible yet I couldn’t get life to stick to the damn script. I tried to erase 18 years of my life in my head. I thought I could just start over. I thought if I never spoke of it, it never happened. I was so DAMN wrong! It was because I ran that I had to keep running. I had to keep changing identities. I had to keep telling more LIES. I was a fugitive.

Plan B had always been suicide. What he didn’t know, I had been falling apart for years. I had been dealing with depression, alcoholism and insecurity. It was taking over my life. I had gotten fired from my job because I kept calling in. I would lock myself in my apartment for days and just cry. When I turned 27 years old I didn’t like myself anymore. I questioned what he really wanted to know. Did he want to know if I was savable? Did he want to know if I could be happy, if I would allow myself to be happy? I didn’t even have those answers. I just knew my mother did love me. She left me. I just knew my father got himself killed before I could even remember his name. I just knew I grew up the kicked dog, so much damn abuse. I just knew when I finally ran away from my Foster care home at age fifteen I would never return to pain again. I mean, what the fuck did he want to know? People like me didn’t deserve shit. People like me ended up dead in the gutter and labeled John Doe. I knew my future, so I couldn’t understand what he needed to fuck with my head. Not everybody gets to be happy. Some of us, too many of us live very shitting lives.

********

You gave into the anger, even with me?

Not with you

You acted out

Why can’t you understand? It’s not about you.

What is that you want?

I want you to listen. And I hate it that motherfuckers think everyone is like them.

Don’t start cursing.

You’re not listening.

You’re talking in circles. We are all afraid of rejection.

Not like me. I’m afraid of the world. I have more to lose.

Nobody is perfect.

You are.

That’s a lie. I have my flaws. I’m insecure. I’ve been burned in relationships. I’ve trusted too damn much. I often feel like a fool.

And you think that’s what I’ve done, made you a fool again.

Yes. Are you ready to talk about what happened that night?

I went crazy.

It scared me.

I’m sorry.

So are you ready to talk about it?

*********

I was surprise that Saturday evening when he called me to go out with his friends. I immediately tried to think of an excuse. I was comfortable with our relationship and didn’t want to change it. I couldn’t be sure how I would act in the real world. I wasn’t the same/sane person.

I should’ve known it was a test. It was like a pop quiz and I hadn’t even opened the book. A nightclub, the devil spawn, was arsenic for any relationship. Nightclubs brought out the worse in people. Nightclubs were like high school for adults—everyone tried to prove they belonged.

He said he’d meet me at the club. I knew that would be a mistake. It meant that temporarily I’d have to be alone. I wanted to be on good behavior that night. I wanted his friends to like me. I wanted to get their approval because I really liked him, so I started drinking. He was an hour late. I kept drinking. I kept going to the bathroom and checking myself. I kept checking my watch. I hated being alone. I felt like a fool. He was an hour and half late. When he got to the club I was drunk and not in the best of moods. I immediately didn’t like his friends or cared less if they liked me because they made him late. I was alone. I knew it wasn’t going to be a good night.
I was used to having him alone. I didn’t like I was going to have to share him with his friends. They went to the bar and ordered more drinks. I ordered another drink. I tried to pretend I wasn’t angry. I tried to smile and tell jokes but my eyes were telling a different story. I felt like an outsider with his friend. Maybe it was the liquor. I wanted to leave but he was my ride home.

I couldn’t decide if I cared. The situation only worsened when some guy asked him to dance and he accepted. He said the guy was just a friend. I hated seeing him with somebody else. I felt disrespected. I had seen him naked and now I imagined others seeing him naked. I wonder what we had was just a fraud. I thought maybe our sex wasn’t spiritual. I thought maybe I was a fool. So I kept drinking. I told myself I was still cute. I flirted with every boy. I wanted to make him jealous so I kissed some guy in front of him. When he didn’t respond, I insulted them. I tried to pick a fight and when he wouldn’t fight me back, I decided to pick a fight with someone who would throw a fist. I needed him to know that I was strong. I needed him to know that I didn’t like to be alone. I needed him to know that I wasn’t a fool. I needed him to know that I wasn’t second place. I got kicked out the club. I found myself throwing up in the middle of the streets. I didn’t know how I was going to get home. And when he came rushing out the club after me, I pushed him away. I didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. I needed him to know that I didn’t need him and I was used to the disappointment. He had hurt my feelings. He had made me feel weak and I hated him. I just wanted to go back to not caring. But he wouldn’t let me stagger the streets. He forced me to get in the car with his friends. He sat in the backseat with me. I felt like a fool.

I just wanted to get home. I didn’t feel as if I was in control. I needed control. I told the driver how to take me home. But he decided he knew a quicker way. I felt agitated. He started the car and decided to take the way he wanted. I demanded that he go my way or let me out of the car. I had lost too many battles that night. I tried to grab the wheel. They held me down. I cursed. I wanted to prove to them that I wasn’t a child.

********

You know I was pissed that night

Get it out

Not to be bringing it up again but you know

Most people say they've gotten over things, but they are just buying time

You were irrational, way too drunk, not comprehending/reacting when I asked you something. And I was like what is wrong with him all of a sudden

I’m completely speechless

And I saw something I didn’t like at all. You seemed so "careless" in regards of your surroundings, me, your actions.... everything

Careless how?

You didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone at that moment. In other words, you were pushing people away at that moment in a way that was not nice.

That was insecurity. It's there, it comes up. It has to be addressed. That's why I’m very careful of controlling the environment

Don’t be a control freak.

I can burn bridges. I am good at burning bridges

I’m a great architect.

So you telling me the world isn’t flat\

I’m saying you scared me because you act like you don’t care which means they are no consequences. It makes you suicidal.

What does that mean?

It means don’t let it happen again

It was your fault. You were an hour and a half late. I got drunk.

You got problems, that’s what I saw.

Sometimes I just need to be talked down off the ledge.

I can’t always be your babysitter. It will get old, real quick. I suggest avoid feeling the need to constantly jump off of buildings.

********

It wasn’t until that night that I had saw the monster I had become. I chased his car. I screamed in the street for him to come back. It wasn’t until that night I realized I was fucking up my life. I believed in nothing. I lost him.

All that time I thought I was protecting myself. All that time I thought I was avoiding all the bad in the world. I was my enemy. I had to learn to let the fear go. Maybe that’s what love was about—the letting go of the fear.

********

So what happens now?

We go our separate ways.

You don’t believe in second chances.

You haven’t even given yourself a chance.

I’m sorry.

I know you are, just get some help. And then maybe we can talk.

I’m sorry.

*********

I didn’t get it until that night. I didn’t get it until I saw the fear and sadness in his eyes that I caused. Before, I was always apologizing. I had the tendency to act out, embarrass, cheat, push away. I guess I felt as if everyone was against me. I didn’t realize I had become against myself. I would’ve killed us all. I wouldn’t have cared. But I did care. I couldn’t ignore that I did care. And that was new. It meant starting over. Going back and correct the wounds. I realized it wasn’t him that I was chasing that night in the rain. It was me. It was like the ghost of me was in the back of that car. Maybe I did kick that fast bastard in the back of his head. Maybe I did smash his head against the window. Maybe the car did flip. Maybe we all died and I never made it home. The car sped off into the rainy dark. I don’t remember going to sleep. I just remember thinking maybe I died. It felt good.

Jesus love Fags, part 5

Tim
he doesn’t understand that I’m trying to change
he was the first person to introduce to me the drugs
and I wanted to be free
but didn’t know that was suicide
and I’ve always been a fucked up
and they always expected that of me

Tim
the last time I saw him
we got high on “I don’t want another hero”
two lost souls the world had forgotten
he said he was in the hospital for year
he called his mother and she blocked the phone number
he almost died, alone
I guess that’s gay

and I remember my uncle in the back of my grandmother’s room
nobody was to touch him
he had AIDS at the end of the eighties
all those he dance with on the floor, disappeared
those he rode in the convertibles with their hair blowing in the wind
abandoned
all those said they would love his beautiful youth forever
got old
cowards
we die so easily
and don’t we all go home
eventually
back in that dark room we so tried to escaped
isn’t gay life just about being used and used?
and the family we needed to get away
that which we thought wouldn’t accept us
bury
I don’t want to die alone
trust me all the fucking compliments never keep you warm
when your temp is a 105

Tim called to read me his obituary
he didn’t really had nothing to say
it was more like a kid begging his parents to love him
just dates nothing why he lived
I hung up the phone in face
The next week I found myself in a mental hospital

I used to think
when I died when I was old
didn’t think that would be thirty years old
and it’s not a moral lesson
fuck the PSA
when I thought when I died
I would think of all the sexy men I fucked
and that would give me peace
but the truth when you’re dying
you think of all the sexy men that fucked you over
the ones that lied
the ones to coward to say anything
that you didn’t say anything
nobody said anything
nothing
nothing
fading into nothing


Tim
he’s like the devil calling
I get online and I’m not really looking
I told him I was clean now
He laughed; told me to come over, quit my lies
I told I would come over but never showed up
A month later he called again
I told him I was sober and working
He said it wouldn’t last
I missed him
I thought we were more than just drug addicts
Six months later he called and just rambled
I listened
I told him I was still sober
I gave him a number to call if he wanted
He stopped calling me
I am waiting Tim
It looks hard in the beginning
But every dick goes soft and we always have to come back to reality
Call me when you’re ready
Tim he lied
They lied
I’ve lied
Truth set me free


********************

Wild Eyes

I thought of you the other day
in the mirror
saw your reflection
as I fired up my meth pipe and inhaled bitter smoke
I had your eyes
those wild eyes like a car crash and nobody survived
I wondered if you would’ve been proud
or just want a hit from my pipe
I wondered if I would’ve shared
mommy and son getting high together
maybe sister can share too since she lost her baby to the courts
we could take a picture for the Christmas card
and then I laughed because I’m a grown man with my own problems
and I always knew what you did in that bathroom alone
because you always had those wild eyes
My wild eyes made me feel closer to you
As I sat in the bathroom alone firing up my pipe
Trying to figure out
If I had a problem
Because I didn’t recognize myself anymore
I wanted to be sober
I am not you
Don’t want your wild eyes
Tired of dealing with your problems
Mama

*************
It never ends…

Eyes red, hair wild
Bandages on my wrists from self mutilation
I just got tired
It was that simple
I had enough of punishing
I forgot what the fight was even about

Go back and correct those wounds
It never ends.

I haven’t made it to heaven
I just got across the hard part
Now I must live with the decision
To not die today
That’s all

Go back and correct those wounds
It never ends.
True Enlightment
The end of suffering
I know I’ve suffered enough
Found the light
After too many years in darkness

Go back and correct those wounds
It ends today.

EYES LIKE YOUR BLACKASS DADDY

Murder teased. I was missing Mama. The feeling: drunken anger, irrationally bitter and sharp as broken bottle glass. I questioned if I ever loved her. I supposed I did. Good boys always love their mothers. Yet, I couldn’t imprison the feeling because there was no real evidence and the emotion was slippery, slipping through my hands like baby oil on a voluptuous striper’s thighs. I knew if I went too deep, thinking about her stormy sea, I’d drown. I never learned to swim. I missed her real bad that night -- before the sun or sobriety crept itself back into existence like a cheating husband. And in that dark, I was alone, just me, the liquor, and stickiness of desperation, I could even smell her. She lingered, haunting my memory with that awful perfume-- suffocating and unashamed. I remembered her aching red eyes and wanting to be beautiful face caked with make-up. She used to sing those Billy Holiday songs. She did have a beautiful voice, my mama. I remembered it was heavy and tortured like a mutilated dead body tied to a cotton fan and tossed in a muddy Mississippi river. Her breath was always saturated with Seagram’s’ Gin complimented by a broken hurt, or was it the other way around? She was usually drunk by my bedtime which only animated the pain in her voice. And she felt it deep like a knife that kept twisting. I still remember the agony. I still remember twisted vile lips spitting fire. I still remember weak hands balling themselves into fists and hitting. I still remember the screaming. I still remember my father. He liked to drink as if it was an Olympic sport. He also liked to beat my Mama. He would hit strategically to never leave bruises. His hands were quick and sliced razor sharp but never in the face, but behind knees, armpits, small of the back, bottom of the feet, anywhere hidden. Mama did seem to love to piss him off. She would start the minute he’d get home, barking maniacally like a bitch in heat, driving Daddy out of the house to drink in the streets. Daddy wouldn’t return until late in the morning just before sun, belligerently inebriated and smelling like somebody else’s bloody pussy and perfume. It was a game for them, their tango.

Mama killed Daddy. It was August, the sun was angry and the wind ran off with the moon. In an un-air-conditioned house, I sat on the my Mama's so beloved white carpeted floor in front of the black and white television, tasting the sour miserable sweat that poured profusely from the pores of my forehead. I captured each acerbic drop of melancholy on the bed of my tongue. In the background there was the usual five o'clock screaming and cursing: Mom and Dad making love in the kitchen. The fights were like clockwork and they were never late. I remember the "I Love Lucy Show" that was on and it was one of those episodes where devious Lucy was up to one of her schemes again and poor old Ricardo was about to catch her. Then there was a gunshot. It didn’t come from the television. The sound was so loud that it felt like my ears were bleeding. I sat confused and frozen. Before my eyes could capture enough tears, I watched as my Mother walked before me smiling. She held a cigarette in her left hand in which she inhaled and then exhaled perfect white clouds. The gun was in her right hand and it dragged the smell of burned violence. She sat next to me. She touched my head gently and ran her fingers through my coarse hair. She laughed because Lucy made a comical face. It was an “I love Lucy” marathon that day, and we sat there for two hours, as she insanely laughed at the television as if nothing had happened or the room didn’t smell of murder. When the show finally went off, she touched my head again. I tried not to think or ask any questions. I tried to calm the loudness of my beating heart, the tears that were standing at the edge of my eyes and the lips that wanted to beg "Mama what did you do?" The gun was most visible and it stood before us defiant and monstrous. I tried to think of others things but all I could do was imagine my father dead on the kitchen floor. I never looked directly at her, feeling the weight of the gun breathing down my neck, thinking briefly that she just might turn it on me. I just stared at her reflection displayed on the television between the commercials. Lucy had gone off and my favorite cartoon was now on, the coyote chasing the roadrunner, but I couldn't focus. My mama’s lip was being rude to her favorite yellow sun dress, dripping itself red all over. She began to laugh again but it wasn’t funny. Her laugh was like that song she would always sing when that knife in her heart started twisting. I laughed with her so she wouldn't feel alone. When the laughing stopped, she parted her lips to breath and said," Don't look at me, I don't want you looking at me with those eyes like your blackass daddy. I want you to listen to me hard and I want you to remember and never forget..... I loved yo Daddy ....I did and I tried real hard but he was a sorry ass nigga and you gonna be jus like him...... now get up go to the kitchen to see if he's dead." I removed myself slowly and walked towards the kitchen. I saw him lying on the floor with his head cracked open like a can of spilled tomatoes all over our white marble floor. Mama loved white. It was actually quite thrilling. I never really liked my father much, mostly because he never paid me any special attention, and when he did, he was always cruel. He never had more than couple of words to say to me, “stop acting like a sissy;” “that boy got more sugar in his walk than a field of sugar cane;” or his favorite,“ bring me a beer nigga.” After all of his cruelty, he seemed so small dead. I always thought of him as a giant, something inhuman, impervious and couldn’t be killed and it just seemed so unfair that only one bullet could be so final. "MAMA HE’S DEAD!" I screamed from the kitchen which was quickly followed by a second gunshot as she cracked her head open with the final bullet, splattering her brains silly all over the pearl white carpet she so much loved. Mama loved white. It was the same white carpet that no one could walk across with shoes, nor eat or do anything that was unclean, but still her blood painted it a red wine and a permanent sadness that could never be removed. I was twelve years old and I scrubbed that carpet until the cops came. I scrubbed it after they laid them both down in the dirt in matching blue coffins. I put a black rug over from what leaked from my Mama’s skull but it didn’t stop me from scrubbing. I scrubbed that carpet until the skin from my knuckles remove itself and ran. I scrubbed it with tears, vinegar, bleach, and nothing could get her blood out of it. I scrubbed it until it was a distant yellow mucous piss-like stain. But after too many years of trying to understand, make bloody red turn clean again, I grew tired of scrubbing. I poured diesel unleaded gasoline over unhealed wounds. I lit a match and dance to the rhythm of fire. I watched the past transform to ashes. I'm still scrubbing the blood off my face and hands.

Thirty five years later. I hate. Love. That’s what killed my Mama. Or insanity. I had been thinking about death all that day. I had been thinking about love. I had been thinking about killing. How I wanted to kill the feeling. My mama was half right. I would grow up to be just like my Daddy, empty and devoid of all human feeling, but with a twist of irony, I grew up to be more like her, crazy enough to fall in love with men I knew I couldn’t keep.