from a rented bed, sam

we found sam

sitting alone in the dark

he tried to move

we kept a close eye on him

sam was a solitude sort who could easily contort his limbs and senses in an effort to abort this mission of living one day at a time with rerun shows and pathetic mimes who hope you’ll try to understand the box their trapped inside, fuck you, it’s the same as mine.

sam knew that.

sam knows that.

though he wouldn’t have told you through that toothy grin and bowl cut hairdo, lower lip quivering when you’d give him attention. a standard smile wide eyed hoping you’d succumb to his defenses. set in motion by an impenetrable weakness his dad gave him for forgetting to close cupboards and turn off lights.

he wished dad would say goodnight.

at least

once in a while

sam didn’t care if it was through song

like the other kids

he knows he’s not his sunshine

no, dad stumbles through the kitchen counting utensils a spoon to simmer his eyes closed.

sam was seventeen when the words came without questions, when he stopped responding, instead defining what would be his next move


when he thought he found it

they came in and ruined everything

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