DEATH ROW UPON A STAR

I can see dead people, I just wish they'd fuck off. How's that for a throw-away line?

And don't I wish it was true. If I could still see you and tell you to fuck off, you'd laugh at me, before you'd take me by the wrist and maybe break it for no other reason than that you could.

Bipolar or manodepressive or whatever. There would be days in bed and neither of us could ever hold onto a job or cash; don't even talk to me about credit. Funny how the poorest people seem to care for their pets the most. We had three cats and sometimes we ate their food, but the cats never went hungry.

Dogs and cats groom. Even rats do. Only humans don't lick themselves clean. The landlady would shut off the hot water when the rent was due. We just wouldn't shower. Or care. That was probably part of the disorder. I hope it was part of the disorder. I shower now, you know.

When I was shorter, my parents took me to Arizona, Nevada and Utah. The mountains made me dizzy. Even there, they were too far away to be real. I saw cactus flowers and dinosaur tracks in the red rock desert and I wanted go live there by myself and be as bugfuck crazy as I liked.

But not everyone gets to go to Arizona and I'm fine with that. I met you instead and we had four years outside the program, then almost three months inside. No one promised anything and they did tell us the drugs were unpredictable, especially with meth.

There are only sixteen of us left now and the circle of chairs is shrinking. Group therapy just isn't what it used to be. But I have all the amenities and I'm no one's bitch, so no fucking regrets. The cunt had it coming and you know it.

Still, I wish I could see dead people. I wish I had been there to see you off.

FIN