Her mom found me on the steps and
We drove home in betrayed silence
In our tin can apartment
I collapsed on your bed dejected
Sinking under the weight of being ten
a stranger in my own life
It was then that you told me
it was time to start
acting my sex
It's Monday morning. I already shaved my head out of wantoness. I drove home in a sleep storm last night. I may have dreamt the traffic accident and the waiting between big rigs for bodies to be removed. Got in after one. Realized it was too late to call anyone to tell them that the world had changed. Lanes shift ahead. Be prepared to stop. Stop. Fell asleep to soft snow and the sound of the heater shuttering on and off. Ten people in world, maybe, know my name and none of them know what I am going to eat for breakfast this morning.
