Ricochet (2017)

Worthless

you gorgeous gal you

idiot fucking fucker

uniquely you better off dead

burden great friend

selfish

talentless

selfless

They come not in waves, that would suggest there is a semblance of order to these thoughts.

They come lightening fast, cracking my fragile equilibrium.

I don't think my mind was ever ready for... well... myself.

Like weeds they need no encouragement to plant their roots deep.

Then to bloom under the right circumstances. They like to come to me during any disappointment. They do not need an invitation.

open the door, pour the lies down my throat, make me dry heave regret.

Death comes to anyone gal. No one will remember.

And yet...

Sometimes the truth comes through when life is at its bleakest.

But what if they do? What then?