oh daddy, I’m part of your child maze. lefts and rights and ups and downs and ins and outs. making due with dented pots and pans and tupperware lids missing their mother bowls.

I hide under the crinkled tarp. protecting myself from the deluge of improper gentlemen whistling migrant tunes of struggles and hardships.

“if we only had day old bread and a bottle whiskey.”

pretty damn nice under here, this makeshift shelter of depressive narcissism. 

She can’t see me, can She?

“hide from her and you hide from all. don’t ya get that genius boy?”