May 23, 2018

I’m in the motel bathtub. Muddied pink acrylic and it can’t be that sanitary. Not that I give a damn. I keep plugging my head under the water half hoping I’ll drown. My God did not make me for crying. At least in the water I can play sobbing.

My husband is dead. Cold an...

May 18, 2018

I was just a girl when they slaughtered them. Nine years old, I remember eyeballing the backyard from my little window the day after that man we called “President,” President my ass… That shitstain’s in hell if there is one… The day after he decided you could hunt them...

May 16, 2018

There was a gravely thumping, a scooping, a gnashing in the next room over.  One of those kerump-krackety smacks that could spin your skull till you vomit. The thump was sperunketing through the bedroom wall I share with dear old mom and dad. It was such a fricken’ ruc...

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