on a thunderstorm in august.

by olifinch182

my grandmother,

she's in the next room practicing silent swear words and singing for the Baptist choir next Sunday.

my mother,

she sits across from me with bulls-eyes on her wrists and heathens dancing in her hair and not the slightest idea of the psychopath sitting across her.

outside,

he whispers slow thoughts up and down my spine. when the war heads descend on the heaven above; inside, they hear a waterfall and i the pills loosing it faster than i am.