[narrative] so i'm not unsympathetic i see why you left
oh i never had just whatever it is you want, baby
and i really tried, i tried with all my might-it made me crazy
to try to figure out what it is i’ve done wrong every time
when everything i love, everything i hold dear
heads out sometime
and all I ever say now is good-bye
bye
bye
bye.
*
Todd went remarkedly quietly to the remarkably quiet facility with its softly whispering shoes and clean, empty spaces. His room is ten steps by ten steps if he takes big steps, and his roommate is usually curled up on his bed and not talking.
Todd very rarely stops talking. Todd very rarely makes sense. Todd very rarely goes an hour without screaming. Todd very rarely sleeps no matter how many drugs they give. Todd very rarely thinks of home. Todd very rarely remembers his name. Todd very rarely very rarely very very very rarely lets himself know why he's here.
Very very very very very very very rarely is Todd not sure he should die.
It would only make sense. It would be the only thing that makes sense because nothing else can add up. Only sense can make it.
Todd curls up in soft bright rooms when he runs out of air and his head buzz buzz buzzes hard dark things that stretch out and up and open, wide wide open and cold. And waiting. And his.
They are trying. They are not unkind. There are no crisp clean metal clips and the stinging of their snapping little teeth. They all have the same eyes. He has been keeping track. There is no doubt possible.
If he is good, they will let him have a pen. He must stop biting his fingers for ink. He must. They taste like bitter orange peels. This is a calculated thing. They do not taste that way alone. If he stops biting his fingers they will give him a pen.
When they give him a pen he is going to find more ink. He knows he's not going to look for ink. No matter how hard he tries he's not going crazy enough. Maybe, if he could, this would be easier.
Pretty blonde girls laugh at him when he sleeps. He knows. They have been in his room, and they leave sunshine behind, and a fine dusting of ash they say is just dust. They say there is no fire. There has been a slash and burn program no one has noticed, but if he breaks his ribs he thinks they will x-ray and send in the Fire Department to take care of things.
He drinks his water with enough ice it aches, and his insides keep burning. Yesterday, he coughed up blood, and now he can't eat without crying.
He thinks he needs a little help.
Mom?
She never comes back.
and i really tried, i tried with all my might-it made me crazy
to try to figure out what it is i’ve done wrong every time
when everything i love, everything i hold dear
heads out sometime
and all I ever say now is good-bye
bye
bye
bye.
*
Todd went remarkedly quietly to the remarkably quiet facility with its softly whispering shoes and clean, empty spaces. His room is ten steps by ten steps if he takes big steps, and his roommate is usually curled up on his bed and not talking.
Todd very rarely stops talking. Todd very rarely makes sense. Todd very rarely goes an hour without screaming. Todd very rarely sleeps no matter how many drugs they give. Todd very rarely thinks of home. Todd very rarely remembers his name. Todd very rarely very rarely very very very rarely lets himself know why he's here.
Very very very very very very very rarely is Todd not sure he should die.
It would only make sense. It would be the only thing that makes sense because nothing else can add up. Only sense can make it.
Todd curls up in soft bright rooms when he runs out of air and his head buzz buzz buzzes hard dark things that stretch out and up and open, wide wide open and cold. And waiting. And his.
They are trying. They are not unkind. There are no crisp clean metal clips and the stinging of their snapping little teeth. They all have the same eyes. He has been keeping track. There is no doubt possible.
If he is good, they will let him have a pen. He must stop biting his fingers for ink. He must. They taste like bitter orange peels. This is a calculated thing. They do not taste that way alone. If he stops biting his fingers they will give him a pen.
When they give him a pen he is going to find more ink. He knows he's not going to look for ink. No matter how hard he tries he's not going crazy enough. Maybe, if he could, this would be easier.
Pretty blonde girls laugh at him when he sleeps. He knows. They have been in his room, and they leave sunshine behind, and a fine dusting of ash they say is just dust. They say there is no fire. There has been a slash and burn program no one has noticed, but if he breaks his ribs he thinks they will x-ray and send in the Fire Department to take care of things.
He drinks his water with enough ice it aches, and his insides keep burning. Yesterday, he coughed up blood, and now he can't eat without crying.
He thinks he needs a little help.
Mom?
She never comes back.