pull the lever, i said. get that bit of
plastic under your skin. i want you to
break your skull open under the
pressure. but why bother, when
bullets can do the job?
you once told me;
mother slept on a bed of pills and
father took showers in broken glass.
they both had their misery to
look after, so why would you
come first?
i swear,
every night i tuck you in with a
blanket of prescriptions and screw
the bottles shut so the nightmares
can't leak out. you carry your misery
around in silken cradles too. you
are just like t h e m,
i see it now.
so why should i come first?