If you died right now, how would you feel about your life?

Inside me is the same desperate hope I have watching the ravenous dead and thinking, Oh please, oh please, oh please. The craving inside of me is to be clutched at by some dead girl. To put my ear to her chest and hear nothing. Even getting munched on by zombies beats the idea that I'm only flesh and blood, skin and bone. Demon or angel or evil spirit, I just need something to show itself. Ghoulie or ghosty or long-legged beastie, I just want my hand held.

Picture the moment when your mom and dad first saw you as something other than a pretty, tiny version of them. You as them, but improved. Better educated. Innocent. Then picture when you stopped being their dream.

How I feel is cheap and used, dirty and humiliated. Dirty and tricked and thrown away.

Anymore, no one's mind is their own.

Being tired isn't the same as being rich, but most times it's close enough.

You grow up to become living proof of your parents' limitations. Their less-than masterpiece.