Cardboard, urine and rats

I woke from a dream I

Well it started out as a xanax bar Ended up a hard penis I didn’t want in my mouth

She looked me in the eye

Said my poems dont have to ryme

I woke from a scream I

Was holding his hands when he died

I resented my family for being close to me.

They’d hurt me too eventually

From all of these. I ran away.

I sleep in the fetal position during the day

clutching a gun I’ve never used

I’ve grown accustomed to you.

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