Two books
Wreckage. How long have I lived in the wreckage of my dreams? I breathed life into us, and you poked holes in me. I built you up, and you spit on my grave. I can see myself walking down Poe Road in the dark, cigarette in mouth, backpack held loosely, and rain in my heart. There was so much I wanted to tell you, so much I HAD to tell you, but you just left me in the wreckage. Those trees beyond the playground were so dark. I felt the night seep into me as I sat on those steps and wrote page after page of pain in my notebook. There was nothing to fear, as I had seen the worst life could do to me. My life went off-script, and I followed it. Did I have a choice? I followed you, little girl, and you led me so far from home. I thought I'd never find my way back. But, here I am, alone again. Back to where it all began. Without you in my life, I breathe more easily. I never thought I'd say that. So much of my life has been spent sifting for meaning in the wreckage. So many...