Only my dogs are qualified to stage the intervention.
An amends list of Shea, Atlas and no that will be all thank you.
Never show up to a formal get together empty handed and I never have.
A jar of my scabs wrapped in a bow personalized to the panel and we can begin:
Thank you for being here today.
Not that I’ve ever been dope sick but once I was too dope sick to let you guys out.
Whines and paws dripped onto the couch where I sobbed and spun.
Solitary dance for one who repeatedly insists no identification with those whose story is not knowing when the party ended.
Thank you for being here today.
Had the ability to do so not been cauterized,
We could reflect on helping Dad up the same set of stairs ourselves.
Another false memory.
Have you heard Patrick never did hard drugs?
Hell, maybe Mom is just running errands.
These days our birth certificates are better served as grounding techniques.
Thank you for being here today.
Would you accept my eyes as restitution?
Say so.
I will pull them out of my face I have been behaving like a fox
protecting a mouse from an owl.
The tenants of this gentrified temple have questioned me on regret,
believing they can fly.
I would fall on the grenade of this insult for you and then yes,
die without regret.
Oh.
I took the dogs out today.
