now we will receive our rewards.

only a few more days. only a few more days of being an alcoholic. i don't think i'll need to worry about pulling the sauce down from the cupboard at five a.m. and all my left over money will go to cigarettes. there will be a good and natural hunger, and fewer unfriendly bowel movements. i'm not shaking uncontrollably now. and my hands are steady as ever. after this there won't be all the faces i have to look at and i will stop pulling the hair out from the top of my head. my clothes are fitting now. and falling off pleasantly. the days are only darker when i'm sleeping. and i don't live anywhere anymore. we'll cut our arms off over this, and pull eachother's faces back with blindfolds full of broken glass. eating empty bottles and basking in sorrow like it's sunlight. i want to be a good woman. i want a blood transfusion. and a new tattoo on my right side of an empty brown circle. the bugs are coming back to life, and why did you decide to lie down there like a dead dog and make friends with bees. sleeping under the bed. checking the closet twice and under all the furniture. you did and you know you did and i was there when it happened. and when you kissed little children and you meant it. well oh well. what can be said of fear and distraction these days anyway. today i bought the biggest cigarettes they had. and they were gone just as fast. why fight it i guess. here goes nothing. look at nothing go so well. you asked nothing to go and it did, just like that nothing ever was. soon i'll eat imaginary grapes and pretend i'm a boy so no one rapes me anymore. that's smarts. i made leg warmers out of sweater arms, and now i have a handsome pink sweater-vest to boot. what did you do over the past five minutes. i have my family and i love them more than anything. you should come to dinner with me and be loved by them. imeanitseriously. if i keep this up i'm sure everything will be coming up roses. you know, the ones i grew for myself and cared for and slept next to, in order to make sure they grew up right. like good christian children do. and i know this because i was one once. and i knew what i was doing when i locked the door and kissed her adolescent mouth and we were both children, but i was always a man really. i played the part well, even when i was alone i would put on the clothes and tuck up my hair and look in the mirror very pleased. for the past few weeks i've been looking in the mirror and i'm not sure who i see. i recognize cognitively that it's me, but it doesn't seem quite right. my body is malformed and my eyes look sunken in and surrounded by a blotchy purple pigment. her pigment was a soft brown because her mother was black and her father was white and it made her beautiful to me. in my young mind. and when you're young you realize things, but lack the ability to understand them. there is the awareness of desire and sexual satisfaction, but not the meaning behind it. we get old and remember those times as children when we felt sexuality, and delve into them like giant lakes of confusion. now our wiser minds can determine why we did these things and how we felt and why. we say, how does this translate to my adult life, it must somehow fit in there where i keep all my old cabinets. this all means something doesnt it. it has a reason. i don't think it does sometimes. we just want it to. there are many little reasons why airplanes make me cry at night when everything is silent and the red lights are flashing. and i am jealous. tired of being on the ground. you are ungrateful for where you are. don't tell me i'm safe.