They’re after me.
I don’t know if you’d call it decompensation or what.
The gears slip and grind.
Smoke billows from the machine.
I am sad and anxious. I grit my teeth all night and all day. I see the sun going down over the golden hills and it does nothing for me. My hands ache with a dull rage. You’d better not come near me.
I know some of you might say how sweet I seem, how good my nature is. Don’t fool yourself. I got a snakebite in me that spills its acid out on others. I got a disposition you don’t want to get acquainted with. My god my teeth hurt from wanting to do some bad thing. I sit on the deck and smoke and sip vodka but what I want to do with my hands is something else.
Or I’ll bother you with my sobbing. Won’t let you rest.
Oh my god, I’ll say.
I got no reason to feel bad. I got nothing to complain about.
It makes me sick how I bellyache.
Every single thing right now just makes me sick.
Sick at heart.
Once when you were small you thought there might be a way…