All In — The Story So Far

Before We Begin

This is not a warning. It’s an orientation. This book contains scenes, language, and thought patterns that reflect periods of intense distress, self-deprecation, and self-punishment. Some passages are reproduced exactly as they were experienced or recorded at the time they occurred. They are not meant to instruct, justify, or romanticize harm.

The voice you encounter here is not a guide—it is a record.

I chose not to soften certain lines because doing so would misrepresent the reality they came from. These moments are included to show how convincing, logical, and even comforting destructive thinking can feel from the inside—and how costly it is to live there.

This work is not a manifesto, a prescription, or a redemption arc. It is an examination of attachment, control, loyalty, and survival as they appear when someone is trying very hard to stay alive without knowing how to be safe.

If you recognize yourself in these pages, you are not alone—but this book is not asking you to follow the narrator. It is asking you to notice what happens when pain is mistaken for purpose, and endurance becomes a substitute for love—or friendship.

Take breaks if you need them. Read slowly. Put the book down when it gets heavy.

You are allowed to disagree with the narrator. You are allowed to stop. You are allowed to keep reading anyway.

Thank you for meeting the work where it is.

Prologue

"I'm all in..." she gasped so quietly I almost couldn't hear. I was focused on my tone, and her body. I felt a heartbeat as I held her firmly, painfully to me. Like daggers driving straight to my heart. Sharp, delicate, ornate and beautiful ... poison. I would die from this blade if it were removed. "Do not pull away, don't pull away ... don't ... pull away ... please ... pull ... away ..." I begged myself, as my grip loosened. I turned and walked back the direction I had so fervently, perhaps foolishly chased her from.

I did this to myself.

I walk slowly through the back corridor then stop. Left hand on the back of my now tense and aching neck, right hand on cold steel-pain, sweet pain, like bad candy in my mouth. Slight trembles as my body aches and betrays me, fighting to writhe and contort in suppression. Adrenaline washes through me, my breathing is heavy. I lift my head and tik, an audible "click" from the left side of my mouth as I jerk my head and it tilts with a smirk. I walk forward, starving, hungry, and ready to devour her if given a taste ...

I didn't know then that this was the moment I would start to live. It would cost me everything. What a tragedy.

1: Before the Black Dress, After the Blue Butterfly

My family started dying.
As people tend to do.

Most of us try to procrastinate about it. We stall. We pretend it isn’t happening.
Others—the real ones, I thought then—do something about it.

If there was a way to stop it, that had to be it.
In a one-sided way, it really does solve all your problems.
It’s selfish enough to make you successful in at least one way.
And if it doesn’t work—
you can always try again.

That’s what I figured anyway.

I walk with my head down, watching where I step.
A car whirs past so close I feel the wind on my skin.

Asshole, I think.
Unflinching. Just disappointed.
Over and over again, no one knows what I need.
They just keep disappointing me

I follow the painted line between the lanes, pretending it’s a tightrope.
It's not fair to just jump. Not like that, you have to give them the chance to choose.
Besides, it’s a long way home if I only break a leg and live.
Not that I’d want to go there.
Pretty much anywhere is better than that place.
I’m walking this highway with no purpose.

But life has a way of being frustrating—even when it IS purposeful.

My pace slows. I’m tired.
Not sleepy.
Spent.

I don’t really have anywhere specific I want to go.
I just want to belong there when I get there.
But there isn’t a “there” for me.

My eyes squint against the cloudy day.
The sky is too bright.
Even gray feels loud.
Like static behind my eyes.

I step on a reflector.
A car whizzes past in the other lane.
The draft snaps my jacket and pulls me sideways.
The ones you see coming are always the best.

Back to the line.

I tilt my head back.
Clouded sky. Too bright, it hurts.
I stop in the lane just to hate it.

Then I see one coming toward me.

My right hand stays in my pocket as I walk forward again.
Feet balancing like a deranged tightrope performer.
Left arm out.

It doesn’t move away.

Finally, I think.
Someone who knows what I need.

It stops... and I look over, annoyed.

What an asshole ...

A slow power window grinds down making a sharp electrical noise

A large man leans out.

“HEY. What the fuck are you doin, buddy? Get outta the fuckin road.”

“Useless,” I say, turning back to the line.

He hates that. I can tell.
I hate men who can’t stand not being seen.
Entitled assholes.
The kind who think silence—
or honesty—
is disrespect.

I wasn’t trying to insult him.
I was just being honest.

He didn’t do what I needed.
He wasn’t good at what I needed him to be good at.
I hate entitled assholes.

The world turns.
I walk the line.
You either hit me or pretend I don't exist.

I flip him off and keep walking.

“HEY—Kid—are you okay?”

The tone changes.

Pity.
I fucking hate pity.

I pull my hand from my pocket.
The bottle flashes.
I tilt my head back, curse the sky.
Why is overcast so fucking bright?
So loud?

The world finally softens at the edges.
My face goes numb again.

I sweat—angry.
But steadier.
Calmer.
The noise between the static softens.
Slows.
I see the line.

“No. Go fuck yourself.”

I expect him to give up. He doesn’t.

A horn sounds somewhere behind me.
Too close.

Then impact.
A fast, blunt pain.

Air leaves me.

I’m on the road.
A reflector presses into my tailbone.

Inconvenient.

“I’M FINE,” I scream, hoarse and furious.

I crawl. Breathe. Rise.

“YOU’RE ALL FUCKING USELEEEEEEEEES.”

My right hand goes to my pocket as I walk toward his truck.
He’s silent now.
Stunned.
Pretending to care.

I hate him for that.

“OH MY GOD—KID—ARE YOU OKAY?”

I fold his mirror inward.
Turn back to my line.

“Sha do… do be do…”
I walk in rhythm, smiling to myself.

“In the still of the—”
I wince. Let it fade. There’s always next time.

My leg hurts.
At least it isn’t broken.

Walk the line.

My left hand goes to my pocket.

Cold steel, silver blade
Blue handle.

My butterfly knife.

I love it.
Probably—
no. Definitely—
more than I loved my life.

All I ever had to do was hold it.

It grounded me.
Like a wire finally finding earth.

The noise softened.
The static had somewhere to go.

Something solid in my hand.
Something real.

With a flick of my wrist,
I could be safe.

If I needed to.

I used to think that word meant something.
Safe.

It didn’t, back then.

I was small.

Too small.

Whatever I held
always ended up in someone else’s hand.

When I got old enough—
or when no one paid attention anymore—
sometime around ten,
I started disappearing.

It’s how I survived.

But I don’t want to do that anymore.
I want to be normal.
Or nothing.
No in-between.

I tilt my head and look back.
He shouted something.
I didn’t care.

The truck leaves.

I decide I’ll try a few friends’ houses.
Find something for the pain.

It isn’t bad—
just annoying.

An excuse disguised as reason.

I turn onto a side road.
No lines here.
Shitty rural towns—
nothing knows where it’s supposed to be.

I need a line.
I need rules.

I grip Blue tightly and look up in frustration.

My other hand goes to my neck.

The necklace.

Don’t.

Small silver pieces are candy to my nervous system.
I know better.
I do it anyway.

My body moves before I decide, and we've already come this far.

Why is this goddamn sky so fucking bright?

So loud… and a car horn ?

Wait, a car horn?

Why is this fucking car honking at me?
What do you want, you stupid fuck?

Respectfully—
I’m in the middle of the road.
You’ve got plenty of room.

Hit me
or ignore me.

I have a headache.

I stick my left arm out and raise my middle finger again—
something I’ve gotten pretty good at recently.
I like to think of it as an efficient way to make people choose.

A siren blips.

Another sound in the storm.

No—
a police siren.

Fuck.

My hand tightens around the bottle.
I want Blue.

A voice cracks through a speaker.
Too loud.
Too close.

“Stop walking. Put your hands in the air.”

He steps out of the car.
Points.
Tells me to walk back toward him.
Hands up.

“Can you turn the fucking lights off? I have a headache.”

He doesn’t.

The world flips.
Metal under my ribs.
The hood is cold, which is nice.

“Did you know I was a cop?”

“No,” I say. “I just thought you were another asshole.
Kinda the same thing, I guess.”

He laughs—small.
Then his hands are on me.

“You got anything on you?”

“A knife.
And medicine.”

I feel him find the bottle.
I knew he would.

“What’s this?”

“Asthma.”

Then Blue.

I knew he’d find that too.

“You know you can’t have this, right, kid?”

I think about saying something smart.
Something sharp.
My nose is still numb. I feel bold.

I don’t.

I need Blue.

I try something else.

“It’s not for hurting anyone,” I say.

I hate how small that sounds.

“I just—
it helps.”

My voice comes out quieter than I meant it to.

“I need it close sometimes,” I add.
“The cold.
The weight.
It gives me something to hold.”

I hesitate.

“It makes me feel…
not so loud.”

The officer starts to uncuff me and picks me off the hood of his car

"I'm taking your knife, go home kid, and don't walk in the middle of the road"

“Yeah, thanks,” I say.
Useless asshole.

I can’t go home tonight.
It’s the weekend.
He’s there.

The static swells as the cop drives away.

Not as bad as it could have been.

I step back into the road.
Hand in my pocket.
Head tilted back.

I hate the sky.
It’s so fucking bright for gray.
So loud.

I chew on my necklace and spiral with the noise.

I need to find her.

?: Good Boy

"You don't need me, you're strong enough on your own. You're a bad ass"
"I don't feel like it, thank you ..."
I stop
It's cold
Like a shattered crystal stem wine glass in slow motion as time freezes. I realize she's breaking, there's nothing I can do. The only one that can save her is herself.
Birds sing in the back ground as if to mock me for my hope. This is the time, say something... anything for fuck sake DO something, SCREAM something, do it, don't stay here you have to keep going, we'll all die like this if you don't.
"You are Radiant.
Luminous, vibrant, and bright. The only light I see when I hide in the darkness." DON'T, you idiot ... don't say that. ...
I pause, this is a thin line ... my shoulders tense, no false hope, be deliberate. Like a surgeon, or you'll hurt yourself.
"Don't worry, everything will come together. Nothing I do would matter if you weren't fighting, protecting yourself and ... " My right hand enters my pocket. "You're doing amazing things. You really are a big deal ..." Cold-steel I can see my breathe. "None of this is easy, and I admire you so much for everything you've overcame. You've got the fire in you again, and I know you'll burn them all. So if I can be any fuel you can use to keep going, then I'll be elated as they are swallowed by your radiant flames and turned to ash if you need to." I taste bad candy ... Sweet Pain ...
"You're color personified ... people try to dull you, and it's hard to recover from that, that subservient form is also passed down to children, so yeah, escaping that, not allowing it into your life and protecting people from it, it's absolutely badass." stop ... too close ... I shiver ...
"Happy isn't something you need to actively feel all the time. When you're actually happy, you don't need to tell yourself to smile, and when you're safe, you don't have to tell yourself not to be tense. A position where you don't have to hide yourself anymore, that's something to be proud of. I just wish that you could see you. " too far ... what is this ? ... dopamine ? ... it's too late.
Don't doubt yourself. but if you ever do, please know that I'm here, standing behind you to support you, walking beside you to fight with you, and only standing in front to shield you, when you want, but never to impair your forward momentum." I am your dog. I'm a good boy ... I want to belong ... my body aches ...
I look to the sky and curse how bright it is...
"You should write novels"
I tilt my head and Tik, an audible "click" from the left side of my mouth ...
"There's a lot you don't know ..." my warm breath condensing into vapor as I look to the sky ...
Breathe ...

Interlude

"I'm not asking you to change who you are as a person. I'm asking you to be deliberate, and knowing, and it's okay to make mistakes ... but, by taking accountability for those mistakes, I try to learn from it. I need you to be honest and real with who you are, because if you can't do that, then you can't be honest and real with anyone, not even me. I'm here as your friend, making a bid, to be your best friend, because I do not believe that if you are not my friend, that I could be in love with you. It is because I love you that I want to be your friend, your best friend, and what that means to me is emotional, and visceral, and honest, and true, and real, and vulnerable, so that I can have a space not for things, but for love."

2: When Silence Means Everything
I didn't know where to go, ever ...
Mostly I just sort of walked around singing, chewing gum.

I like love songs most, I like to focus on the voices. I like to sing with them. They are nice to me, it softens the static.

Hearing a voice I like is incredibly provocative to me, I don't like most of the ones I hear.

I like to listen, most people like to talk, I'd rather write.

None of the places were ever familiar to me, but I could make it mechanical.
Everything always looked so different, and I don't understand why.

It's like editing a book, maybe? An extra pause here, a slight change in tone not portrayed on the page correctly ?
The world changes in the same manner, small, insignificant, unknowingly, though, still ...

Walking the side roads in a small town isn't all it's cracked up to be, sometimes it's nice, just because I'm doing something.
I can concentrate on the little things, step by step.

If I step on a crack with my right foot we step on a crack with my left foot in the same place, the next step I can.
I can feel it through my boots, it's not perfectly in line with where my other foot landed, I hate it, try again, get it right this time...

As I stumble altering my pace I see a penny.

The lines on the roads in rural towns ... non existent, we need rules.
The best you can do is sidewalk or if you're lucky a raised curb, those are nice.

I bend down to examine the penny, tails ...

It doesn't matter, I don't believe in luck.

I flip the penny and lay it to heads side somewhere visible.
Someone might.

They don't make these anymore, just another edit...

There's sidewalk here, but it's a busy road, finally ... I should walk there, but I can't.
Don’t draw extra attention to yourself right now.

These days I’m a driver.
Actually that wasn’t untrue in those days either, just with a little more… we’ll call them trustworthy people back then.

That’s not a good thing though.
I just hate liars.

I also love trustworthy people.
Someone you can count on.

You find the pattern, you find the person.
and I love games.

It’s different sometimes though.
I actually trust everyone—
except that’s not true.
I really just trust their patterns.

You can always trust a liar to be a liar.

That's honorable in it's own right.
But that's how I know, I can trust them.

Choosing to say things is usually their real problem.

They choose that.
Relatively consistently.
I trust that.

At least the ones that omit are smart, but I'm both more and less observant than I'd like to be.

As long as their choices don't... conflict with my own belief system,
I’m loyal.

If not,
I’m your servant.

We know this, but there is no stopping it.
I can't see it while it's happening, I have to have rules to keep me alive, but I can't say no, because this is my choice.

I'm almost to the gas station, and see my motorcycle.
Often I would have to leave whatever I was driving at a secondary location, but it didn't matter.
I was relieved to still FIND my vehicle where I left it, untouched, so that's awesome.

I see a line.

I hop onto the concrete curb on the outline of the gas station in the parking lot and I walk on it.

Today has been a good day, a stressful day, but a good day.

I'm tired.

I look up and the sky is menacingly bright for the middle of the night.

I've never understood how we have to ruin every every starry picture with artificial city lights.
They are beautiful and useful in their own right, with moderation, but I like things dark.

I remove my hat and press my hand against my right temple, I can hear the blood flow behind the fuzz playing like an unending orchestra of high pitched ear wrenching tones.
I have nothing to focus on except this feedback.

The motorcycle vibrations help and I can't wait to ride, I want to feel the wind.

Sitting on the bike now, steel, it's okay.
I'm okay, just breathe.

An image of a tree flashes in my mind.

“Don't do that ...” I swallow, straining

I've been working on my truck a lot recently, my only shade is my enemy.
It's overbearing to me, I don't think in pictures I think in words. This tree will kill me yet.

None of the pictures are ever good, not anymore, but that's how they started.
I yearn for a good picture, but it never happens.

The birds sing as if to mock me?
For my hope...

“Don't do that, you're fine, everyone is fine. Know your place.”

My fingerless gloves touch metal, slightly cold, the gas tank, blue, silver stripes, leather straps, chrome buckles. Really a classic retro looking modern cafe racer. I was proud of it. I named it Dash because it was so nimble on short roads, sidewalks ... people's yards ... stairs ... you can run a lot of places with low torque normal size vehicles can't, and stealthier too.

I'm thirsty ...

Well we are at a gas station, we've got time.

It has a self checkout here which I like, I have to interact with people less that way.
I feel like they should all have these.

I'm a caffeine addict at this point, at least the shits legal and I've probably put worse in my body.
I wish I could drink coffee though I think as I pass by the machine.
It always makes me nauseous from the smell.

I usually just tell people I don't know why, but I'm lying.
With every fiber of my being I wish I could though, I had one that was good.
It always tastes better when someone else makes it, and everyone else makes me nauseous ...

I like fruit flavors I guess, they all taste worse than vodka, I think.
I get to the self checkout.
$4.01 highway robbery, yeah, poison me and take my money.

Do I have a penny ?
I thought I had a penny... annoying ...

lets just do this, 20

The machine is card only ...

Fuck me.

I hear a voice.

"Fuck ..." softly trailing ... seductive ...

I can't see anything at first, but her...

Head tilted to the right, hair laid across the bed. A single strand is enough to glisten in the sunlight as if asking permission to touch the color radiance belonging to this being.

This being immeasurable.

Imperfect,

Beautiful,

Sharp,

Daggers...

The only light is her fire that I was privileged enough to be kept warm with, but now, it burns me. I am ashes.

I turn to look around but no one else is in the store except me and the cashier lady.
Who is just staring. Chewing gum loudly.

"Breathe" I exhale a deep audible sigh.

She probably thinks I'm stealing something...

I tik, an audible "click" comes from the left side of my mouth.

“Don't do this right now.”
“But you're tired, this is the best time.”
“Stop talking to me, I don't care about your perception of time, go think you're smart somewhere else.”
“Ask her.”
“You're an idiot, I'm not doing that, it's not why I'm here.”
“Come on, You're in a minefield, but you'll never get out if you don't take a step forward. Maybe you don't explode where you are, but everyone else is as they leave you behind.”
“You don't know shit, go away asshole.”
“Go to her, ask her.”
“I can't, I'm thirsty.”
“She’s going to throw you away like always. There's nothing you can do. You'll break again.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, that doesn't matter. We know that.”
I'm visibly annoyed now.

"You're more obtuse than normal."

I hate men.
I used to think I just hated certain types of men,
but now it’s almost a universal rule.

I’m a man.
I know how bad I can be.

It’s rare to see better.

It's not grandiose or anything we're mostly just shit.

The only difference is how bad we smell, and how big we are.

I don’t feel sorry for anyone like me.
I just hate them.

Maybe that’s judgmental.
I don’t care.

I'll fight a man, over just about anything at almost any time.

I'm afraid of women ...

“Ask her, just be kind to her. Is there really anything else you need to do ?”
“I just want things to be ... normal ... I had a good day, I didn't have to hide. Can't you just let me have that ?”
“Look closer, you missed something... What kind of day did they have?”
“I'm not here to participate in those games.”
“You're still wrong. Who's the idiot now ?”
“You mean ... ? What type of day did she have?”
“Better, but you don't have that answer now do you? Something's wrong. Ask her ...”

The once empty room phased in quickly, with me still, startled.
I'm standing at the self check out motionless.

The cashier is masticating loudly, chomping gum with an open mouth.

I chew gum constantly, old habits die hard, but at least it's not razors anymore...

I know people hate it, masticate to your fucking self ...

I tik, an audible "click" from the side of my mouth

My head jerks, a little more violently than I would like, as I force myself to move towards the cashier.

“Excuse me, miss?”
Just don't call me a pet name I think to myself.

“What's up sweetie,” the attendant replied in a very wanna be southern belle accent that I hated.
She drew out her words too long for what seemed to be purposeful speech, in her mind.

“I'm hungry. I need some kind of snack, can you recommend a candy bar of some sort for me ?”
Sometimes they play along, those are the good ones, fun.

“Well I don't know babe. What kind of candy you like ?”
Sometimes they say shit like this, no fun.
Don't call me pet names, I don't belong to you.
Just... be nice.

“How about you pick out what you would get. Your favorite ? I'll try that.” I say smiling

...Or at least what I felt was a smile.

It gets confusing if you can't see yourself.

I don't always know what I look like.

“Well I dunno honey, I guess everyone loves Reese?”
She guesses, no good, I need you to know ...

“Is this your favorite ? Reese ?”

“No, I like Caramello.”

... No fun, I don't want to play anymore.

Scanning the counter for Caramello I accidentally spot a mini Heath bar pack.
I have to buy those.

If I like her, we both get Caramello

Only she, gets Caramello
I get something for the blade through my chest.

I pay for my drink and the candy bars sliding the Caramello to the lady at the counter as I walk away.

She smiles and thanks me, I'm no longer interested in her voice.

I raise my hand and wave as a gesture to signal I heard what she said, but the truth was I didn't care.

At least I can sing again I think as I grab my helmet, and maybe she'll dance.

A flash of a smile comes in my mind, her smile. The pictures torment me. I see her dance, just a little every now and then. Sort of sliding with her feet, it gives me hope. The pictures started so good, now everything just leads to bad candy, and we never get any. The worst memories are the best moments taken away I think, putting the candy in my bag. I throw my leg over Dash and turn the music on in my helmet, frantically trying to escape the electricity between my ears.

The universe mocks us? For our hope.

We miss her, and the wind.

3: Something to Hold

The cop didn't question my medicine, so that was good—odd, I thought… but good.
Also, he really didn't hassle me all that much, which was unusual. Typically, I am a little more tame when it comes to encounters with the police than my friends, but it always ends the same. They like to throw us around, assert dominance, take something … always men.

Sure, I was walking in the middle of the road, but is that really illegal? I dunno, maybe… but there's no fucking sidewalk here…

The least they could do is paint center lines…

I reach into my pocket and feel nothing.

I was surprised, but disappointed… I would have rather he rough me up than take Blue from me. I miss my knife already... I forgot he did that…

“What an asshole,” I thought angrily.

I look around and I'm lost again, but I know if I go south I'll eventually get to the main road. It goes east and west out of town. From there, I can just cross it to the trailer. Most of the time I would drive to town and park just to walk around. Typically, a church in the middle of town on main street, except on Sunday morning and Wednesday nights. Those busy days I would just park at a restaurant, or whichever fast food chain seemed like it had less people when I drove by. They're all terrible in this town…

I finally see main street.

I hope he is home… and has another knife… I think as I cross.

There is an alley way leading up to dilapidated wooden steps that gave you entry to a raised texture metal doorway with no window, annnnnd it's locked… of course it's locked … I knock loudly and stand waiting… annoyed… I look over at the broken doorbell. He's probably passed out… you live in a tin can—what's the point of locking the door?

“God damnit.” Every fucking time… well… unless he wants something from you. Then the mother fucker will be waiting at the door, hands outstretched like he's your best friend that hasn't seen you in ages. I've seen him do it with a smoke stain wifebeater and shorts in the middle of winter. He likes to hug and give hearty pats on the back when you arrive for his needs… or wants… I don't like him touching me … I don't like anybody touching me, not really.

Now, though, I know he is home. He's always home unless I take him somewhere. He won't go anywhere alone… everything is so annoying…

I bang on the door much more aggressively with the flat of my fist. I'm actually a little worried I might knock it down.

“High quality,” I think out loud. It's hard for me to keep things to myself when I'm frustrated. My internal filter is already low, but I'm an external processor.

I can hear music… well… what passes as music in this house of wanna be grunge garage band flunkies…

I always keep picks on me. They were useful when I traveled with the rodeos. That was a few years ago now, but the skills aren't that hard to keep up, or hide from the cops. I reach to the inner sidewall of my shoe for my flat turner and pick. I usually only keep a hook and rake. I'm kind of bad at rakes… the static is loud, it's hard to hear the clicks, and I'm annoyed. I've done this hundreds of times, but it takes me a while today. I want my knife.

“HEY! I KNOW YOU'RE HERE!” I shout as I slowly open the door.

It's still not wise to just assume. Once I ate a fist to the mouth—not from him, but from some “customer”—because they didn't expect me. Another time a girl attacked me and scratched up my neck, then tried to apologize by offering to give me herpes. I tend to knock everywhere now at minimum, and announce my arrival…

I hear hysterical laughing coming from the hallway to my right, followed by guitars. I put the picks back in the hole I've cut from my shoe.

I figured as much. Though the door is closed, I knew he was here. I tik “clicking” quietly as I walk down the hallway toward the closed door. I pass a bedroom on the left with a girl inside, sitting on the bed.

“Hey! How are you!?” She always thought I was... cute? I didn't understand or want to give her false hope… I was just nice to her… when I could be…

“Oh… hey, yeah… not bad… I got hit by a car and a cop took my knife… so it could be worse”

“Aw, that's sad…” Her words trail off. “Is there something I can do?”

“Not unless ya got another knife or something I can take for my leg…” I look to the door. Stepping in this room is a death sentence… “Who is here?” I ask eagerly, trying to find an out from under my politeness.

“I don't know who is here. You can stay with me for a while." She smiles as her voice softens, she leans forward on hands and knees to crawl towards me on the bed. "We can watch something or just…”

A loud crashing of what sounds like guitars being thrown around interrupts her misguided limerence. I hear muffled shouts from behind the closed door of the other bedroom.

I tilt my head to the side and "click" loudly as I propel myself to the door in a sprint. I shoot my hand in my pocket as I slam my right shoulder into the door.

“Fuck…” I realize… that god damn cop… I've got nothing… but it's too late now.

The chain lock at the top of the door may as well been made of plastic. You live in a tin can with panel doors, moron…

It's mostly a pretty minimal room: a closet, a nightstand, a window above the small twin bed that's not big enough for three guys, but they made it work regardless of the size… in more ways than I'd like to remember…

“Jesus, guys, can you just not right now…”

“Did you pick my door again? I told that bitch not to let anyone in.”

"Yeah I fuckin did. Fix your god damn doorbell or answer when I knock."

The girl has come up behind me now, I feel her hands on my back as she peeks around as if I am the door she's hiding behind. I may as well be, the paper thin piece of shit they pretended to lock was now half off the hinges.

"You broke my fuckin door man what's your fuckin problem?" the other two are silently watching as he stands to walk towards me, its a small room and he's in my space before I can think of anything to say.

I feel her fingers tighten around my waist slightly before sliding slowly and disappearing from my body. She has nails, I've always liked being scratched. I'm like a dog.

"Your door is shit anyway" just like you I think to myself.

The other two men I'm not familiar with, but he's always like this, an asshole.

"Get me a knife" I say calmly.

As I lean against the doorway, irritated, arms crossed. It's not much, but it signifies I'm not violent at least.

"No, you broke my door. Fuck off" he turns and waves one hand as if to shoo me like a fly.

I see light bulbs and pencils on the ground.

"I know what you're doing. Do you have one or not? A cop took mine." My eyes squint in irritation as I "click" I'm still leaning against the doorframe.

He walks over to me calmly, slides behind me and speaks into my right ear. His voice low and slow. "Did the pig get anything else?" he asks in a slight lisp, I used to think it was seductive in a way. I don't like "normal" sounding voices.

"No" I reply steadily looking forward, watching the two men on the bed. Despite the fun they were having before, they've sat silent the whole time, unmoving, they know better right now. Their best course of action is just to let it unfold.

"Don't lie to me boy" his voice now raspy, angry, I can tell. Of course he's angry, I broke his door.

"Fuck I said no. I don't have anything left right now besides this." I pull the bottle out of my other pocket. "You think they wouldn't have taken this too? My picks if they found them?" I've interrupted his playtime and mentioned cops. Too many mistakes, now I want him to give me something.

"Did he hurt you?" he smiled, fake concern... I didn't think this through properly.

"No, he just took my knife, I need another one. Butterflies are harder to get than I'd like"

Still behind me now I feel a hand on my hipbone, warm breathe on my neck as he sighs, I shudder... "You know I trust you Kev, but these boys just need to know" the words come snakelike, full of venom.

"Take off your shirt" he commands me, he knows I'm a dog.

"Is this necessary ?" I know better than to mention cops, "These boys don't care about the police and you know I'm not wired. Forget it, I got hit by a car and..." I trail off, I notice my leg hurts more now since I've been leaning on only it. "I just wanted a knife, maybe something to take the edge off my leg."

His hand still on my waist, I feel him shift behind me slightly as his other hand slides up my neck. I know it's not wise to move, I tik, a very audible "click" comes from the left side of my mouth. I taste bad candy, Shit, my head tilts to the right to make the noise.

"Oh, yeah ? " He moans slightly, quietly into my ear.

"No" I growl as I start to adjust off the door frame, I'm off balance, my leg hurts...

With him behind me his hands on my waist, my neck, he shoves me back to the doorframe with a jolt. The two men stand finally.

He leans in and runs his tongue from the base of my exposed neck line upwards under my ear, and grasps it with his lips. Sucking for an instant.

I spin my body and right elbow to the back of his head, but not fast enough.
He feels the movement and ducks away.

I committed heavily, and my elbow connects with the door frame.

I don't have time to feel pain, but I know it's there.

My back now to the other men, they are on me faster than I thought.

I see a door close, I forgot she was here…

The world turns and I see the ceiling with an impact from the ground. I gasp for air.
They're holding me down, and someone is on top of me now, straddling me excited, like a kid on a carnival ride.
I assume it's him.

"Aw you don't want to take your clothes off for me ? It's just a shirt right ?" his hand reaches for my throat "RIGHT?" he's louder now, irritated, but smiling, angry and still having fun. I fucking hate men.

"I have to buy a new door now. You know, now that I think you have to buy me a new door don't you ?" he smirks I think, it's hard to see as my head is being pushed up from the hand on my neck directly under my jawline.

"What is it with guys and doors?" he asks mockingly

"It's like all the abusive assholes want to ruin them." What a philosophical asshole, of course he wasn't wrong

I try to respond but there are only some random throat noises I didn't know humans could make.

I'm getting weak...

He removes his hand from my neck and bends to reach the nightstand.

"Can we just talk? Like we used to?" It's not really a question, he means shut up and listen... agree when he says. The other two men are still holding me down, but I'm not resisting at this point.

Opening the drawer to the nightstand, he pulls out a butterfly knife.
I know what happens next. Cold Steel-Sweet Pain I "click" as he turns back to face me knife in hand. The men are silent, unmoving, so am I as he flips open the knife in a very clumsy manner. He was never good at it, but his position now doesn't require skill.

"You know I love you right ? You're my favorite, I even wrote you in my will."

"Of course you did" I reply, he's told me that a million times.

"You're my favorite, such a good listener too." his hand reaches under the waist of my shirt and upward towards my neck again, I feel cold steel against my skin as it slides up my chest. I tilt my head backwards as if to look up so the knife can come out the neckline of my shirt.

"So all I want to know is that you're loyal, I need a right hand. You know that, someone I can trust." I can see the knife blade against my shirt poking out the neck line as if it were wearing my clothes itself.

"Of course you can trust me. "

I click.

I feel the flat side of steel settle playfully against my neck.

"I just want a new knife." I smile... I think... it's always hard to tell.

"Hmm..." He runs his left hand up the outside of my shirt, lingering to caress my shoulder before gripping the collar of my shirt.

"Well, I guess you could have this knife, if it's sharp enough."

"I'm sure it will be fine," I reply as his grip tightens around the collar.

"Okay then."

He starts to stand, but as he does the knife cuts into my shirt collar and slides through the seams as if they were stitched with paper, my shirt now becomes a thin jacket and my chest exposed.

He looks down and frowns expressively smug "I'm sorry Kev, I must have cut you, I didn't realize it was so sharp."

There are slight trails of blood where the knife had pressed against my skin on the way up between my shirt. I didn't feel it cut me, but the blood was enough proof.

He folds the knife back slowly "Wouldn't want to get cut myself"

"Have this one," he smiles as he sits the now closed knife on my chest, cold steel.

The men look confused, but I know what's happening. All they need to do is let me go, just one second. He will tell them to do it, and I'll have my chance.

5: The Price of Friday

He steps off me and sinks into the bed.

I glance over to look him in the eyes.
“Let him up.”

He smiles wide—teeth bare, dimples—cute in a way.

The men release their grasp, as they stand simultaneously, though over me still.

I tik and tilt my head. An audible “CLICK” from the left side of my mouth fills the room.

My left hand grasps the folded knife on my chest.
Finally-something metal.

We smile.

I stand—slow, casual.

My body aches as I rise, the knife still closed in my left hand.

Right.
Left.
Right.

I feel the weight. It’s lighter than Blue was.
I don’t like my new friend.

I flip the lock with my pinky and flick my wrist.

The men, arm’s length away,
I feel them-overconfident.

Adrenaline surges.

an extra pause here

I click as I kick.

My foot snaps forward—
a wet, breathless sound.

The dog crumples to the floor grasping himself.

My left hand rises on instinct, shielding my face.

The second man—clumsy—swings, wide and telegraphed.
Slow.

I dip beneath it, the air tearing past my ear.

He's big.

Don't fucking touch me.

My new friend lightly kisses the clumsy man's throat.
He freezes.

Hands in the air.
Open.

I wince heavy.

My leg hurts?
Sharp.
Hard to stand.
Candy.

Shit. The dog in the floor.

My shoe mashes its nose as if he were a disobedient pug.

The big clumsy man reaches for my seductive friend at his throat.
Too slow for us.

My only friend finds an intimate line across the second man’s hand.
He stumbles back.

My right leg spikes again.
Sharp.
Inner thigh.
He’s climbing me from the floor.

We click.
Candy.
Pain.

The bed laughs hysterically.

My new friend lifts the dog's chin with its edge.

“It’s intent,” I say.
“Calm it. Sit.”

I click.
"I love dogs."

The bed laughs—calm, mocking.

"Was this necessary?"

My eyes shift slightly, still watching the dogs.
My peripheral spots the psycho now lying in the bed.

"We're going on a road trip." The bed speaks feigning casual.

I'm annoyed.
"Why?"

"Friday." The bed says, not so casual this time.

He motions the dogs to lick their wounds beside him.

"That's not what I asked." Omission never sits well with me.
I can tell something's off.

and I love games

"Friday." he reiterates seemingly flustered.

He's not having fun anymore.
He doesn't want to go?

"Where are we going? These two stupid fucks aren't coming" I say smugly.

"I'll let you know."

He was always vague, and there were unfamiliar people present so I didn't expect any real answer, but this isn't his tone, he's not sadistic, just ... desperate?

Pain shoots through my right leg.

I limp backwards to fall on the doorframe and keep the men in sight.

One on the bed licking his wounded hand,
the other still in the floor.
It smells, and there is a weird pile of something he’s dragged himself through,
probably vomit.

Holding my friend firmly I take inventory of myself.

Down at my leg, my pants are bloody, I need a new shirt, and my bottle has broken in my pocket during the chaos.

I growl softly as I notice pencils sticking in my knee and upper thigh.

Broken, what feels like below my skin.

How does he expect me to drive if he's just going to let them fuck up my legs?

"You don't know anyone else for this? These jerk offs just fucked up my leg, and I got hit by a car today. What makes you think I can do anything now?"

I'm frustrated, that usually makes him happy.
Not today.

“Other people will be coming.” Almost reflective. Unusual.
“You’re coming, I trust you.”

I squint, frustrated intuition wells in my mind as I search for answers.

I see the broken light bulbs on the floor again, guitar haphazardly thrown by the closet I didn’t notice before despite the “music.”

The dogs have relaxed, both on the bed with him now.

“I need someone to drive me now because of your idiot games.”

“I’ll go, please …”

I hear a soft feminine voice come from the doorway of the room behind me, precise enough for only me to hear.

I click quietly.
“The girl can drive me.”

“The FUCK she can, she stays here! Take him!”

Sitting up abruptly, he shoves a man off the bed.

“I wasn’t really asking. Besides, he smells.”

“No,” angry, raspy, pretending not to be cornered.

“Look, you want me to drive? Without context?
The girl takes me.
She will have my car, and she will pick me up on Friday to meet with you.
That’s the way this happens or it doesn’t happen at all.
If she doesn’t pick me up on Friday, alone, I report my car stolen.”

Awkward silence fills the room as he contemplates losing control of the conversation.

“Plus, your assholes broke my bottle.”

My new friend holds my other hand as I pull the container from my pocket to throw it on the floor in front of him.

“I’m empty. I have about 2k she can bring back to you. Replace my courage. We all win.”

He fights a small grin forming from the corner of his cracking mouth.

Money … means more ... I catch his glimpse to the broken light bulbs ...

"Take the girl, be ready by noon Friday. In the nightstand there is another bottle."

He gets louder, anticipating she hears likely.

"She returns with money, untouched, or not at all."

I click. Static.

My eyes narrow with hatred

"Has she been, untouched here ?"

The dogs look at each other and smile

"I'll see you Friday." The bed says

I reach into the nightstand and retrieve one of many bottles, I also palm a bag, lucky me. The dogs will get blamed for this likely. As I shove them both in my pocket.

I walk backwards out of the room.

These men aren't dogs though, they're hyenas, ravenous and immoral, scavengers. Everything they touch is poisoned, even me. I should know, I've been touched too much already by their kind.

Still slowly limping backwards down the hallway, my new friend firmly holding my hand, I stop at her door.

"Lets go, you first."

No more words.
It’s deafening here.

Her nails lightly drag my hip bone outline from front to back as she walks past me towards the exit.

I need a new shirt...

6: Untouched

Limping down the steps backwards I close the door as we leave.

The girl has already found her way to the yard.

I'm a little slower than her.

For some reason I don't feel well, but it's not my leg.

I know what adrenaline is and that's what it started as, but this is something else.

Something much more painful, for everyone.

There's no one here, it's just us.

Something's wrong ...

ask her ... I click

"Hey, wait for me" she's leaving you behind

"How long ?" she replies

Time shifts

..."What?" our eyes squint

"I said where did you park your bike?" a slight change in tone

that's not ... "I drove the truck." I forgot

It was her attempt to revisit closeness through small talk, failing. She understands why but that doesn't make it any less devastating. The intent can be whatever lie you need at the time. It makes you feel better, but the impact ... that's where the real damage is done.

"You don't have to be with me, I just wish you wouldn't be with a monster" I growl more than I expected. Am I frustrated? Why ? She hasn't done anything wrong.

"Don't talk to me like that, I'm just your friend."

"It's like I mourn him."

My hand reaches to my side, grasping my keys, one in particular, it's always with me, cold-steel

The static is overbearing, painful, tensing my body as the electric rush runs through me

"The only one I ever cared about losing, I never had." I look down and see a penny

She doesn't believe in luck.

"If I needed to talk, I would reach out and you would respond, because you are a good friend. You don't have to do any more than that." Sharp

"I'm just disappointed, I know you care ..." now standing on the steps

It's raining, somewhat cold.

I look up as I taste the salt disguised by sky

"You didn't do anything wrong" she trails off softly ...

-Tails

"You're just trying to help" I know what comes next

I flip the penny to the heads side. I trust you

I curse the sky as I look up

It's bright, heavy, hot ...

her voice low, worn, tired ... "You're just my friend"

back turned to me

she hugs herself, her head tilts

she used to have such a happy ponytail

dancing as she walks, no more

distant now, fading, fuzzy

a distorted speakerphone call

and I'm muted

"...my best friend"

It's,

okay.

Candy

go to her

no worries

slowly, Gently

Hold her, calmly...

I care about, stop... don't

you'll hurt yourself again...

No! Say it defiantly, wincing

despite the pain of the outcome

This is the moment time freezes...

Only I can move in this space...

I... care about specific people

I care about us, about—you

and as we say nothing

we stand, tensely

we stand quiet

...untouched

bad candy

Daggers,

We click

7: Cold Steel: Peppermint Click

Breathe inward
muscles tense
legs spread shoulder width apart

it hurts to move
even slowly

though, that’s the point

I’ve gone too far

I can't stop now

but I can focus

Breathe

Tai Chi has taught me a lot.
You’re supposed to do it relaxed.
I’m always tense.

My body aches.
I don’t want to feel it.

Do it anyway.
If we don’t, we’ll lose ourselves in rumination.

Horse stance—
but here we can breathe

clouds gather

it's so nice with the bees, the flowers, the lines in the pavers

rising mist

and the smell is so sweet

caress the clouds

like candy

call the wind

gather energy and release back in the world

white crane spreads wings

it's soothing, especially while I have something to focus on

I love doing things for people I love

it very rarely matters what, and that's honorable in it's own right

I am their dog. Often beat.

They choose that.
Relatively consistently.
I trust that

but I am a good boy, loyal

hold the ball

I feel as if I can belong here—

except that's not true

snake creeps down

I'm lying to myself

and we hate liars

"Hey" I say smiling, afraid

it's hard to focus with my eyes closed

I hear a voice" are you okay ?

"I fight all the time, I just don't always win"

"I'm sorry, I'm okay... I just have to go." don't stay here you'll die here

"Where did you park ?" She is anxious

"It's okay I like to walk"

I was relieved to still find my vehicle where I left it, untouched, so that's awesome

parking lots always have interesting line structures,

I make a sharp right to follow the painted line, I like the raised parking curbs, but they're short ... sometimes you can jump to the next one, I like those best.

these have been painted yellow, I like yellow, and blue ... and brown and silver ... and,

"What's your favorite color ?" I ask the girl

standing on her tip toes as she lands after a cheery hop onto the curb accidentally on purpose knocking me off my line

I forgot my leg hurts

she's taller than me,

I'm not a big guy really.

I didn't think so anyway, everyone was always bigger than me

or, at least that's what they thought

so smug on her tiptoes

cute in a way

but I knew better

she's just a badass

"You need a new shirt"

she said lightly —

I think.

an extra pause here

you gave me this shirt

It doesn't matter now

"I'm sorry, I guess I should go." I don't really have a place to be

awkward, but in a nice way, it's a shame

"Can you take me to the house I guess" I don't really have a home

"I never want to leave ... " my body aches ... "I just have to ..."

a slight change in tone

"I'm sorry" my hands in my pocket

"...for what?" she seems confused

"I ... have my limits ..."

The adrenaline is wearing off

unfortunate

fuzzy

"Lets go"

Turning on music as we drive my cassette player is blaring.

AW my first wife, although she didn't know we were married"

she smirks softly as I continue

"I was just a guy in a car, I mean yeah, she was a super famous singer, very retro, classy, nice clothes. I had two pencils stuck in my leg, it was pretty surreal ..."

"You're a bad liar" she scoffs, more amused than she like to admit

"everybody has to have dreams I guess ... unless they get beat out of you with reality. "

"Anyway, this is a good song." I say pulling my hood over my head, "Music loves me today, at least. "

Sometimes when I was young I would listen to the radio really closely so when a song I liked came on I could record it.

We were scrappers, kind of ... well ... he was, I was along for the ride. It was actually kind of a nice break for me usually, I think the problem was it just seemed so rare. I'm on the side of the road walking while my father drives. we picked up recyclable things near the park, mostly beer cans ...

Also on occasion electronics.

We had to turn them into scrap.

Rip the guts out, burn the wires...

they writhe as we punished them for their damage

The fire leaving metallic copper tones behind

The smoke irritates our nose

We shift through the ash, staining our fingers with their unfortunate remains

But sometimes they worked.
Sometimes their lives were spared

I saved a portable radio once — at least it would sing to me.

There wasn't a lot we could do.

I threw a tennis ball at the garage often to play catch with myself... mostly I slept on the love seat. I read, I write, I listen to music, maybe some card things? Sometimes chess, we didn't have much.

It was okay, I didn't need much, there's not really room for me anyway. I could cuddle to the back of the couch and hold my pillow.

My grandma made my blanket.

Thick, crochet, fuzzy, and it moved with you.

I got to choose colors, I choose a lot of colors ...

I get to record music from the radio sometimes, and now my car has a cassette player. I knew that I needed good music for Friday, at least if I went there I'd have the chance to make something, but I have to go to the house instead ...

"It's kind of a long drive to the house

I click in time with the music

we live pretty far out in nowhere ...

I hear a growl

"Do you want some crackers ? I have some in my bag"

"Kind of" she's sheepish, embarrassed to ask I think ?

"No worries, we're almost there"

"What's it look like?" I forgot ... and she's never seen it ...

it's the kind of place people have fences to keep their cattle in, and dirt bikes out ... mostly ... but the dogs get free reign. You can go in and out as you please, no one really cares as long as you belong to the rodeo.

Outsiders were ... frowned upon ...

"There's a long drive way beside a church and a camper near the arena, and the driveway, and ..."

"Here ! Park behind the church, turn off the light, they can't see you here. I'll be right back." as long as he doesn't see me

I like the dark, mostly ...

It does make it harder to get through the fences

barb wire catches my tattered clothing, reminding me I didn't change in the car, I forgot my clothes were there.

I hear a voice "The fuck you doin here man" Shit, it's Fred... now two "WHOA MAN what you doing here man" and Max ... he's young ... "Damnit, just calm down guys it's me" raising my hands as I kneel. "I just have to get some stuff"

"Jesus what happened to your shirt? What the fuck man, and your leg ?" Fred is always so considerate of people, "who is in your car ?" he's a good boy, the same age as me.

"okay okay okay, I'm glad you two are here, anyone else would probably get me beat, it's a girl"

They both tilt their head and peak their ears to listen

"aww you dog"

Max wasn’t trying to dehumanize her —
he was trying to fit in.

You can’t lick every face and call it connection.

... but in this moment it only mattered that he was happy for me ... in a beneficially misplaced way

"Is she nice ?" Fred says smiling or ... what I think is a smile

try to Scoof like she did,"Tch" I think I smile back "Of course she is" confusing ...

I love games

the night cracks

Horses whinnied loudly in stampede from the back of the field

the night cracks

steers and bulls moan at the tears in the sky

Gunshots

Fred and Max instinctively bark and start to descend on the arena as I run to the camper

I open the camper door and quickly starting to gather repurposed metal mint containers full of money. They were unbelievably strong smelling mints the paper assaulted you mercilessly with the fragrance, just like peppermint candy. No one liked them but me really, even if someone did I always kept a small container on me for them.

I get back to the car money in my bag flung across one shoulder

"are you hungry?" the girl looks up at me and says nothing

"Listen, just ... take this lock bag and give it to him, he knows the numbers. Use this, and ... get some gas, maybe some food? ...Be safe" I still smell bad candy

my leg staggers me, stabbing as I walk away ...

I forgot something ... I click, the vehicle is already out of sight ...

I've got to go inside.

I didn't get my clothes from the car ...

8: Dogs of Old

My knowledge of anything is useless when I forget everything

It was how he died
it was how they died
it was how we died

in the woods
in the field
in a building

alone

but no one forgot

not even the new dogs that weren't there when it happened,

The old ones made sure of that.

They made sure dogs like us knew
where we didn't belong
and that we had no where we would.

There was a price for being here,
whether you were here or not.

We were trained wild animals,
forced to bare witness,
feign witness,
betray,
steal,
you name it.

If you were younger,
it was less likely the police really did anything to you.

Maybe rough you up a little,
you know,
"scare" the shit out of you

The officer taking my friend earlier
had taken it's toll
through my incompetent planning,
low self awareness,
and need for instant gratification.

Though, I liked to think of it
because it helps quiet the electricity.

I don't like my new friend

You don't bond in violence,

you bond in safety

my new friendship was formed in violence.

So the cop nearly killed me
when he took my real friend,

the one that cared about me.

The because of that
he also put me in physical danger
when I didn't have it later.

I wish I would have made her take me somewhere Running towards the camper

I can sleep there, but if I want clothes I have to go inside the house since I left my bag in the car ...

Now is the best time.

While everyone watchdogs the property lines frantically searing for the tear in the nights silence

I click, hard, violent, my head jerks to the left

my right knee

hot, steel-pain

The dogs smell blood as the echoed laugh travels endlessly—through the dark sky to the clear stars—bright, small from here.

The universe mocks us...
I fall

for our hope...
I yelp, clicking wildly

"DON'T YOU FUCKIN MOVE."

I try to stand

"You fuckin sit your ass down boy."

I fail

"I SAID SIT!"

I hate men
especially him ...

Kneel

He takes my useless new friend from me

I am entitled nothing,
even when I don't want it

frustration,
wet eyes,
and pain only echoes
as I plead to the stars for relief

Their silence is everything.

9: Shade of the Tree

Everybody has hobbies.
Everybody has interests.
Everybody has opinions.
Everybody has dreams...

Unless you don’t.
Then they’re beat out of you.

My dream as a kid?

Normal. That’s it. Simple, right?

Though — how many of us actually are normal?

I don’t think I’ve ever met a normal person in my entire life.
It’s really something to behold if you ever catch a glimpse.

I always knew how to fit in. Anywhere. For short times.
Everyone seemed to like me,
for no particular reason that I could discern at the time,
other than I was just there.

Socially, that’s how it went.
That’s how it goes.

I want to be.
So one day I will be.
So I am now...

static

head throbbing
heart pounding
eyes focused narrow and wet

my muscles strain to make but a single movement
as i forget to breathe

the pounding now lets up
only to have the electricity between my ears
wretch my body in pain

over the paper
over the recording
over the reliving

I had not known this before —
what vibrancy had been bestowed upon me
by the personification of color
that graced my grey and black world.

As we lay, legs intertwined —
it’s cold,
so we cuddle together for warmth under the blankets.

Her head on my chest.
Hair under my chin,
tickling my cheek
as I speak.

I now know what it feels like
to be a man for the first time — aware.

Not afraid.
But knowing that fear exists.

That I would be able to be safe and vulnerable with someone,
and hold them.

Not because I am lonely.
Nor because I need someone.

Simply because I yearn for it.
To be you.

So badly
that I pray to a god I don’t believe in —
every god I don’t believe in.

The devils and the demons too.

That if they did want me to believe...

Now was their fucking chance.

“What do you love most?”

Her ears discern the offbeat rhythm from my heart.
My hands tremble. My eyes adjust.

I say,

“This.”

You — laying together after — aware, smiling.

“I love to be here.
I love that I can laugh with you, and be intimate.”

“I love that it feels like we will be friends forever.”

“We will,”
as if you read my mind.

I am an open book.
And I will be here to read for you
if you are here to read for me.

As many chapters as we can handle together.
And write a story.

So that’s how the images began.

Luminous.
Vibrant.
Bright.

Warmth taught me how to feel empathy and compassion for myself,
so that I may share it with others.

I had a friend.

And it wasn’t just myself —
but I could be when we needed to.

Normal.
Independent.

We could belong
anywhere.

Because we belong everywhere.

Best friends.

My simple-minded torment and ruinous thoughts no longer
engulfed my days —
hour by hour,
minute by minute,
second by second.

They were beautiful.
Luminous. Radiant. Vibrant. True.

When we are in sync
we could show the world a love story…

The last one we will ever want…

But still —
from somewhere in the static —

“I’m sorry…”

Not all my pictures are so luminous.

Tragic.

“Have I ever told you about my first kiss?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she looks over from the bed.

Well…

My first kiss was supposed to be with this girl I went to a concert with.

We played a game.

I carried mints all the time, and whoever got the last mint got a kiss.
And they choose who they want in the group.

Only I ever had mints really.

“So I had to play. There was no way out.”

A small smirk comes across her face.

“Well yeah, of course you had to play. This was a setup. You really didn’t know?”

“I knew I had mints. And they couldn’t play without my mints. So they let me play… because… the mints…”

She giggles.

“The mints were mine so I got to play,” I say, embarrassingly.

“I don’t know if that’s sad or cute. Maybe both.”

“I hope so,” I say. “…genuinely, I didn’t know…”

“But you won, right? How many people played?”

“I didn’t win.”

“I don’t get it. How did you get your first kiss if you didn’t win?”

“Well… it wasn’t really my first kiss, I guess.”

“So… what happened?”

We were out in a parking lot.

My back against a big van.

The door cold.

I felt her breathe on my skin.
Hair on my neck.
Warmth on my hips.

click

“She didn’t hurt me… or anything. She was my friend. She was nice to me. I just…”

I felt afraid.

“I don’t know…”

But I do.

I felt cornered.

“I didn’t let her kiss me.”

I felt regret before she tried.

We had been friends for quite some time.

I never want to be home.
There isn’t much there for me.
I don’t belong there.

I have a hammock in my room.
A desk that my dad made.
A radio.

Sometimes a color TV.
Sometimes a computer.

A couch from the side of the road.
Luxury.

I liked the camper some. At least it was away from everyone… sometimes.

Nobody really notices I’m gone much anymore.
So it’s easier to sneak in and out.

My sister was ten years younger.
We used to be close.
But that doesn’t really mean anything to people like us.

We’re all loyal to betrayal.
No backbone.

The dogs belong to the rodeo.
Some in more obvious ways than others.

I don’t believe in luck.

But I trust people
to have patterns.

You find the pattern,
you find the person.

Usually I would consider that… unfortunate.

But it works more often than I expect.

She kept me alive.

static

I didn’t know where to go. Ever.

I had been to seven different schools by sixth grade.

I can fit in.
But I don’t belong anywhere.

I’m surprised I’m in school.

I just belong to the rodeo.

I hate the rodeo.

It persecutes me for my independent wants.
To question it is to betray.

but we must always answer

I loved the animals.
The things it taught me were useful. I can say that.

click

But for some reason she was there.

Drawing on my hand.

Behind me to the right I hear a voice.

She always has the best lines.
Like a movie.

But I can’t remember her anymore.
And I don’t know why.

I look for her everywhere I go.

“What’s your favorite candy?”

Butterfinger.

“I’ll try that one,” I say.

My family started dying.
As people tend to do.

Most of us try to procrastinate about it.
We stall.
We pretend it isn’t happening.

Others — the real ones, I thought then — do it.

Interview Section

“I bet she felt bad.” — Interviewer
“It’s how you learned to survive.” — Interviewer

I guess.
I don’t know why anyone ever chooses me.

I have identity problems.
It’s like I’ve been programmed.

My actual first kiss was a different girl.

We were friends for a long time.
Went to high school together.

We were wrestling on the couch in my room.
I didn’t have a bed.

Acting like she was biting me.

She kisses me.

She was nice.

I didn’t want to.

I thought we were playing.

She wasn’t mean to me.

But I was afraid.

I couldn’t say no.

I would also be intimate for the first time with her.

But I forgot.

I’d rather not remember.

My parents separated a few months into first grade.

So we move.

But at some point right before we move —

It’s like I’ve forgotten this story.
But remember it now somehow.

It feels fake.

Programmed in.
Like software on a computer.
Or an edit in the page of a book.

I remember a sliding closet.
The doors were mirrors.
Gold trim borders.

We could see the bed in the reflection.

I open the closet.

There are shoes.
A dress.

I’m in my parents’ bedroom.

And I don’t know who they are.

There were three girls.

I don’t remember how old they were.
How big.
How small.

They say things to me.

I don’t remember what.

Just words.

They grabbed me.

Then I was on the bed.

I was little.

They held my arms down.

One girl got on top of me.

They held me down easily.

And that would have been my first kisses.

And…

After that—

click

Sorry.

The first time there would have been sex involved
in some form.

And we didn’t remember it.

I don’t remember everything about it.

I was wearing a dress.
Or some form of white clothing.

I was like six.

I remember multiple different times.

Different ways.

For years.

I can’t really see their faces.

Or who is on me.
Or who is in us.

The girls were scary.

They were being nice.

I didn’t know what to do.

I just did what they told me.

We could tell they weren’t real.

They were always softer than the men were.

But I’m not sure if that’s better.

That’s the programming.

No was not acceptable.

I didn’t know what to do.

I just did what they told me.

If I didn’t—

The men beat me.

And we did it anyway.

The girls trained me
so I was unable to say no.

We were their dog.

click

breathes

yeah

...

click

yeah

“This happened more than once?” — Interviewer

Stuff like this happened for years.

I don’t always remember very well.

Unless I don’t want to.

Especially when I try to be intimate with another person.

I don’t like people touching me.

I can do it now though.

“What do you think has changed?” — Interviewer

I don’t think we like the answer.

13: Luck

I felt more like myself today,
not a lot,
but just a little.

work is over
but it's cold,
no vehicle to drive me,
so in the snow I walk

I see the line
but not a painted one,
it's jagged,
not as straight as I'd like,
but I've actually come to love the asymmetry

my feet still step on the wrong area,
sometimes I skip a little slide
as I dance my way to my mundane job
I feel over and underqualified for
in the same moment.

I like it
kind of ...

singing,
walking,
clicking

straight lines have no rhythm

I can dance on the cracks in the street

clicking in time with the beat

after work lets out
its dark menacingly bright

damn reflections from snow banks

and low 20s temperatures,
so I'm bundled with my scarf
and compression arm warmers,
leg bag, notebook,
my keys, pen,

what did i forget ?

fuck no keys
I click

...it's fine

I reach into the hole in my boot

I've decided to sit outside
on the back porch,

it's fucking snowing again?

Well, at least there are a few cool icicles

I breathe deep as it's heavy through the nights sky

between the garage and the porch
there isn't much room
but it's all fenced in,
kind of protective
though you can see through it..

I never want to be somewhere that doesn't have a porch

I've been active
and feeling well
even riding the bike around
exercising for fun

When I don't know what to do I just do something ... anything.

but still...

I'm sad

it's cold enough the dog won't come outside with me

unfortunate
as i debate how to fix my vehicle issues

it's hard to be a driver
when you got 3 down.

I hear a couple arguing,
loudly from a couple blocks away

it's late,
I'm tired,
and he's just called her a bitch ...

from a block away

men, I growl
always men,
always loud,
always assholes

I didn't know the context
I didn't care

the front door opens on it's own
as if to give me justification
for that which I did not ask

the side walks are covered
I walk hurriedly to gas station
as tires squeal
under the breathe of the man
screaming obscenities
as the crying woman
now left
cast a stone
but only for the ego
of the man's sake.

the night cracks

a voice tears through the sky
electric, static, fuzz,

it's shrill,
like a murder scene
at a horror movie drive up

the night cracks

gunshots

from behind the parking lot dumpster

it's rare to see

the woman is there
only slight wounds
but no steel had pierced her body

the room was smaller than I imagined

the room now distraught broken

the house within it's walls had another story to tell

"I don't like furniture much" at least the floor is cold

most of the stuff here is broken

they don't make these anymore

there's a slight change in tone

the woman mutters "men are such assholes " as she cries about being unlucky in life, in love

I wasn't interested in her voice

I wave my hand as if to signify I heard her but the truth was I didn't care

I don't believe in luck

why are you doing that ?

"I've always been this way" I smile, or, at least what I think was a smile,

add a laugh

I kneel

it helps when you can't see yourself

I flip the penny to the heads side and lay it somewhere visible

I look up and see her

we are young in our eyes,

it's not portrayed on the page correctly

Have I always been this way?

"that doesn't make sense" she laughs "we don't believe in luck"

"That doesn't matter you know that." I say smiling, or, at least what I think was a smile. The penny isn’t about superstition — it’s about leaving behind something that says I was here, and I didn't destroy this moment for someone.

"Do you want a piece of candy ?" she smiles back

I tilt my head and click

15: Just Next to You

Sometimes I'll play the lottery, a little more literally than I'd like

we don't like the word literally, I just need things to be clear.

you're already doing what you're doing, but things don't always make sense,

I'll never win

I don't actually like cold weather.
sometimes its nice
the wind breathes slow, easy,
but still, painfully harsh and sharp on it's exhale,
the snow sparkling enough to merit sunglasses

my truck has battery issues
so my electric seat is stuck in the recline position
from where I had to take apart the interior
I needed more room

The leather is frigid through my layers. The one time I wish I didn't have tinted windows is now for the sun's warmth

breathe

long pause, I forgot

and breathe again

but it is nice that you can't tell the smoke
from the condensation

I can't stay here

there's so many cardinals

I count
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, and 10
clicking in time

so many cardinals
a few black birds
but right now the red
is a nice contrast
to the white on the snow

it's like they're dancing
as they hop in short flaps
across the thick snow

I like the females best,
they're prettier
not menacing

still bright against the powdery white blanket
somehow more luminous,
more vibrant

I click

I just shoveled the exit to the garage
borrowing the neighbors snow shovel

mine broke last year
that usually is a thing i would have remedied
but not this time

there's too much going on
too many things broken
too many things not working
too many things damaged,
including me

The alleyway is not very clear,
people have driven down it.
Probably gotten stuck...
and an edit to rethink their course?

I'm sure they thought themselves unlucky during this time

Their large tires tracing an outline to the neighbors garage
they left their tail light behind,
and curious footprints examining the damage done.

You can't prove anything if you didn't see it,
especially to the police,

and closed minds...

I don't want to be here.

I used to go places...

We loved dine in restaurants
and I always thought it was nice to take the time
to be together.

It seems normal.

I have an aversion to furniture.
I like to sit on the same side of the booth as her,
but that is rare.

Normally I don't like people touching me,

it's nice when our shoulders kiss.

It's cold and our legs are warm wrapped together under the table

most places have chairs ... unfortunate ...

but, I still love it when we are here

Wherever we are,

she always has the best lines.

We're regulars,
so much that the owners wondered
if there had been a tragic accident.

Like in a movie,

since eventually we just,
quit going...

anywhere.

He wasn't wrong exactly

There are so many gulls in this parking lot all the time,

they're cawing encouraging us to play catch with the bread.

I love games,

we love movies,

I love this food.

We usually get the same things.
There is a little variance,
but the indecisiveness can be fun when its brief.

"Hmmm" she concentrates, softly

She can solve it on her own
she's much more intelligent than me,
especially cute in that way.

I love this feeling.

She knows what she wants,
what makes sense to her makes sense to me.
When she wants to try something new,
she does.
Simple, honest, true.

"You just want what I have" standing in the yard, she's vibrant.

The sun is low, glistening through her hair. The plants whisper of color they wish they could steal as their leaves and her hair dance through the wind.

I put my left hand in my pocket

she turns on her tip toes, I grasp the bottle tightly in my coat.

A simple look, as her head tilts.

The sky paints Twilight about her outline, as my head tilts in mimic

"Freedom" she radiates.

It's warm here ...

stop searching forever...

I breathe easy.

I feel it —I smile.

This time, I know — I can tell.

I click

20: Beds of Stone

You tell me everything, and I listen. Anything you want to tell me I want to know.

I don't always understand it,

but we can talk about anything. click

Except us.

We are taboo.

I just wish I understood.

What makes me so worse?

You compare me to them, but do you compare them to me ?

How long must I be recycled before finally being thrown away?

For the good of us?

Or kept.
Because I'm wanted.

To be better,

together,

not perfect.

People leave you untouched, yearning to them for compassion, but beaten brutally when too bright.

Ashamed and afraid

Caged

Despite people existing that can open cages,

or repair broken doors,

the bird will often return to its broken cage.

But wouldn't it be nice to know you were free?

A door that doesn’t keep the good prisoner in,
but shuts the bad out,

and a guard dog that knows the difference.

You would never have an unloving touch laid upon you.

Or the people you care about.

Traces of us.
Fixing.
Building.
Together.

Are you ashamed or afraid of me?

I don't understand.

Talk to me.
Openly.
Honestly.

Without fear of punishment.

I'm not a punching bag.
But I know how to take a hit.
For us.

If I can stand openly next to you.
Proudly.
As your friend.

I want you safe.
Not afraid.
I care about what you care about.

Help me.
Help us.

I would not have left your side—
if I had not been instructed to do so.

Why do I still need to hide?

We could be free...

Together.

I did not seek us out.
I did not come unless instructed.

But you knew how to find me.
I like to listen.

My persecution—
my sin—
my want—

is only this:

to love you.
Openly.

If not for that,
could I have done anything in your name?

I'm sorry.

No guilt.
That's what I want from you.

I wasn't lying to you.

I was trying to be honest.

I'm not very good at humans anymore.

I feel myself breaking.
Starving.

Why do you call for me,
when I've not been chosen?

I'm fractured.
Too many pieces...
But if I’m feeling this way—
despite my attempts to be distant—

I'm sorry, click

How do you feel?

Help me understand ...

I just ...

need to know ...

We can do this,

but it has to be deliberate.

I want to hold you,

but I wont reach for you.

Keys jingle lightly in my hand.

What do you want?

I forgot,

breathe,

we're tense

we want to taste you

we want you

all of you

click

We will be okay. ... The universe ...

I'm sorry, I'm on edge ...

I'm not asking you to pull me closer,

just please,

don't push me away anymore. ... Mocks us ...

We've already gone too far.

I remember us.

Are you okay ?

Are we,

okay ? click

I'm not them ...

I'm on your side. ... For our ...

you know that...

right ? ... Hope ...

A slight pause here

When I don't know what to do, I just do something.

I never know what to do

it's nice out

I've never really liked the outdoors much

The great outdoors was why we decided to invent the great indoors, we've been doing it since the beginning of time ...

but it's nice actually ...

well ...

about as nice as it can be in the middle of town.

not much space here I guess ...

fuckin... mosquitoes

but I don't need much space,

and I just wear long sleeves.

besides...

I don't belong here...

I just wish I did.

unfortunate...

I lay in the rocks, over time there have been made some river rocks and paver walkways though still not completed they are nice. It's sunny and I lay on my back in the rocks looking up at the sky. I wish I could see this finished. It could be beautiful. I want to fix the doors.

I hate those doors

Traces of someone who held you with unloving hands.

We hate those doors.

I'm used to living alone in the shadows by now,

sometimes it just gets dark ...

but today ... menacingly bright,

partly cloudy, some wind.

Technically nice.

Bright as fuck,

but nice.

I kind of love it.

click

When I don't know what to do i just do something.

I never know what to do, but... I just did nothing.

Just for a second

I knew what it was like.

There's no trace of me anywhere...

Except here.

I've never had much stuff, usually not more than a truckload at at time.

It made travel and moving harder.

I've always left anything everywhere if I ever got thrown out of a place, it's not like I can hook up a tv in my vehicle anyway.

I sleep in the back seat a lot.

I don't have room for a couch in my seat ... not a big deal, mostly ...

There were a few things I value, but usually they were just with me all the time.

Here though, I can look around and see things I've done, maybe I don't belong here, but I am here.

The tree has been cut down, rocks moved in, various renovations, mostly unfinished at this point but still some by my hands, some by friends.

That fucking stump from the other tree that's been taunting me for what feels like years now...

It's cool, just ...

unfortunate.

click

rocks are softer than I imagined

This is what it felt like to belong,

except...

We have rules. We need rules. We have to be deliberate, real, or nothing.

We made a promise, to not manipulate each other physically. I trust you, and that's important to me, you're important to me. It's not just about me and what I want though, and it's not about us. It isn't about one thing—it's about everything. I won't risk that. Not at the expense of everything else.

At least not now ...

just stay a while …
we don’t have to go.
not yet.

click

I'm sorry,

help me understand ...

Help me

Help us

25: Rain of Daggers

It's like editing a book, maybe? An extra pause here, a slight change in tone not portrayed on the page correctly ?
The downfall happens in the same manner, small, insignificant, unknowingly, though, still ...

That's not way to stop it, that can't be it...
In a one-sided way, it really doesn't solve any of your problems.
It’s selfish enough to make you fail everyone,

but, I'm tired...

besides, if it doesn’t work— I stick a piece of metal under my hat

we can always try again...

I taste bad candy.
but I know what happens next...

my body aches

?:Afterward

Introduction

Everyone needs someone, for something, sometimes, but it doesn't have to be a specific someone all the time.

The thing I believe in most? Love.

We all have different needs. We are different people with different skills—and different weaknesses. I believe most of us are simply good or bad at certain things. There’s some gray, but not much. The more honest I am to myself about that especially, taking credit for the things I'm good at. I'm often so negative about my own strengths, it really just feels like a weakness to me.

This will actually be a bit of a project for my own mental health. I miss writing. I want something to love again.

A maybe a small docuseries of events that eventually leads up to a full story. Since everything felt like a movie, I figured why not write a book ? They're always better. I have never felt so persecuted for loving someone, and so self destructive that I am today, every day before, and will surely be now, and everyday after.