My mother set me up for failure. My father, too.
Yet here I am badgering myself for having nowhere to go.
Because if only I could make for the fourth time to do it
To end it
To just die.
And maybe that's why I smoke so much, hoping
It'll draw every last breath of me
And squeeze my throat until I do.
| Herein lies the crux of it all, drowning out the incessant loudness of the primary caregiver's voice so that our own might surface and be. Thanks for sharing.||| Posted on 2022-06-10 00:00:00 | by CrypticBard | [ Reply to This ] |