Home.

Everything hurts. My skull hurts. 

I'm trying to conjure Michael Fassbender because I have a brain injury, spiritually. I hurt everywhere.

One of the last punches he threw, my dad asked me (invoking dementia he doesn't have) to name my childhood dogs in order. But actually, he wanted to ledger how he had murdered them. I halted after entry 1. He was mad that my sister was on a work call outside, "doesn't she ever get sick of hearing herself talk?", so he just randomly threw ninja at me for no better reason than I was standing there.

And. 

While I was distracted with dying parents, Nebraska took that chair job for himself.

Honestly, I'd rather the raw authenticity of killing my puppy. 

Wow. Just pain. Like marrow flu. Sick.

It's hard to even compute

how these men could dismantle me and think nothing much of it. I didn't even love the 'partner' and he broke my heart somehow anyway. 

He made the mistake of texting my sister again. "Play with your food," Sis. Bat him around into shame corners just for kicks, like cats stalk centipedes.