in the rays of the night sun
Mom and I had a fight and she said she wanted me out of her life. I slammed the door in her face. I went to my room and stared out the window. I found a nail and made my wrist red. I lit a cigarette in her kitchen from a pack I bought in Florence and went outside. I sat on the rail with listening to Scar Tissue over and over, staring into the patches of dead grass that don't grow amongst the green overflow. The dogs sat by me even though she hates the smoke and I feel bad about it for her, yet for no one else. All of this is an old ritual. I want out and I want new. It may be May, but my bare feet still freeze at night. I got on my bike and I left.