I told my sister I would watch the girls so they could leave the temple, stagger the salted streets until they vomit while I played the piano all night with my glass rarely full, a fist full of gin after every song until the
bottle was hollowed like a gutted fish.
I pounded on the vulnerable keys of my grandmother’s gift she had left for me after her soul had had enough.
Slurred the words of other dead punks while the girls played in the other room.
I pounded away.
The girls shopped and scribbled lipstick on their little faces, sang along to the songs they knew from
The smoke from a pack of cigarettes crawled through the air, out the front…
View original post 77 more words