There Is No Safer. There’s Not Even

I Know My Head Isn't Screwed On Straight. I Want To Leave, Transfer, Warp Myself To Another Galaxy. I Want To Confess Everything, Hand Over The Guilt And Mistake And Anger To Someone Else. There Is A Beast In My Gut, I Can Hear It Scraping Away At The Inside Of My Ribs. Even If I Dump The Memory, It Will Stay With Me, Staining Me. My Closest Is A Good Thing, A Quiet Place That Helps Me Hold These Thoughts Inside My Head Where No One Can Hear Them.

Grandma Frowned And Yelled Something In Russian. She Could Have Been Saying, 'open Up, Your Best Friend Is Here.' On The Other Hand, It Could Have Been, 'america Is A Great Country Because Of Canned Ravioli.

Picasso.” He Whispers Like A Priest. “picasso. Who Saw The Truth. Who Painted The Truth, Molded It, Ripped From The Earth With Two Angry Hands.

I Won The Wintergirl Trip Over The Border Into Dangerland.

I Need A New Friend. I Need A Friend, Period. Not A True Friend, Nothing Close Or Share Clothes Or Sleepover Giggle Giggle Yak Yak. Just A Pseudo-friend, Disposable Friend. Friend As Accessory. Just So I Don't Feel Or Look So Stupid.