I got on my first Greyhound with you. A seven hour bus ride out to Spokane. We met your brother at the station. You thought he walked on water. I thought he was an ass, but I kept my mouth shut. We partied for seventeen hours straight. Barely crawling back on the seven a.m. to Seattle come Sunday morning. We tried to be discreet, but your hands shook like an earthquake. And my eyes betrayed me, bloodshot and heavy lidded.

I came home to an empty house. My mother was away on business in Shanghai. Something about a mix up at the factory. My sister was over at her friend's house. The one with the very blonde sounding name. And my father was passed out on the neighbor's couch. The ash of a freshly smoked joint settling into the carpet. The front door slammed behind me.

I flaked out on my friend again. When I called her up to apologize, she didn't sound angry. Honestly, I don't think she was even surprised. I'm becoming a recluse. I knew I always had the potential welling up inside of me. I guess I'm just as lonely as I make myself.

I look in the mirror, and I know I'm letting things slip away. I watch as they fall from my feeble grip, one by one. I don't stoop down to pick them up again. I just let them roll away from me once they hit the floor. I stopped caring long before I ever let go.

People believe the process of insanity is like the snapping of a twig. But the mind does not break in an instant. No, reality is lost in small, slow, unsteady moments. Much like a child's first steps. That is how one achieves madness.


I'm okay
Really
I'm alone
And I'm okay
*breathe
I'm okay

*breathe

I'm okay


*breathe


I'm ohh-kay