Right on the front face of the battle, that’s where Bibles lives. The desk not partitioned away from the rest of the home. The machine of it wakes her when she sleeps. It is in my pocket. It is marked into my forehead. Tiny dot pull me forward.
In my dream last night Musette was making out with somebody that she’d met at a party. Her and the person that she was making out with had gotten up from the bed that they had been talking on and walked right past me, not looking at me, into the bathroom where they locked the door.
I woke up to shit on the kitchen floor. I pointed it out to my dog, which seemed pointless. I told him that if I ever caught him shitting in here that there would be hell to pay. He wanted me to take him out where he made two squirt piles, both tinged with blood. This is making a mess of my life. Everything in my home stinks. I’m sleeping on an uncovered mattress. I want to kill him so why would I be so destroyed if the vets did it for me? Imagine what will happen when Musette gets old. Her butthole is already falling out of her body and she’s only 27. How am I going to pay for all the treatments she’ll be requiring. Me and my broken back. Me and my checkstand life.
The Macy’s Day Parade is the top trending thing on Twitter. That’s not a good sign in this world of terror that we’ve found ourself in. This could be the day I lose her. Every day is feeling like that day. Every time that she is apart from me I get this feeling like she’s gone for good. No fan blades necessary. No Grady calling the shots. Some outside force saying something like, if you won’t do it, we will.
This is the story of my life. Hypocrite bibles. Caring too much for human life. Crying my eyes out as a kid at the thought of my turtles dying. Holding a day long funeral for my hamsters. Still scared shitless about losing my parents. Haven’t even having really lost much in my life.