The deadline
My head was screaming last night. No sleep, there were moths in my bed, in my hair. I'd never heard a teenage boy cry until. I'll tell you I love you. Tell me you still want me.
Today I want to cut off all of my hair, and smoke in the rain, and sleep before you. Some day we'll have blankets of our own, and you'll hold me in them. I'm so pleased for the rain.