and a rusty cage of deflated soccer balls and busted wiffle bats, golden variations reflecting obscured glass, and a strange woman standing on the forest’s edge. Here, where shadow meets green grass, where fantasy frantically turns nightmare, is where I first saw Mommy crying.

There is a face hiding behind the broken branches and below the bed and I think it might be yours... Or mine!

Oh god...

Something horrible happens every breath I take and that means I’m somehow responsible for the voices I hear, and the guilt. (And so are you), (fuck you). Maybe the woman in the woods will love me madly if I let her see me cry (or see my humongous cock); you ever try trauma-bonding with a hallucination? Hahaha! Life is just this.

People say you have to stand strong in the face of adversity, but I am so scared; Mommy please. (How can anyone love something so fragile?) Our backyard is now overgrown with brush and thorns and literal shit. The rotting wood, my childhood play room, screams nostalgia, begs for destruction, and the woman in the shadows, with feet rooted in wet mud, blood and filth consuming her figure, is brewing chamomile tea.

She loves tea parties.

(I Saw Mommy Crying and Other Complicated Emotions)

The light in the bathroom turned from white to yellow then black, and Mommy’s back is hurting. In this light, I am Mommy. The lights are black and my back hurts and I’m crying. You see me crying. I am Mommy. Then Mommy says something like I can’t feel anything anymore. I give her soup and I make her a collage when she goes to the hospital. I give too much – Now I feel nothing too. Nothing. Daddy is at work. I am Daddy. I am Mommy. You see me crying. You see that I am not home. I see you crying because you saw me crying and that makes me cry more. I see you crying because you saw me crying and that makes me cry more. Mommy has no more energy. I am Mommy. Mommy has no more energy and says that she might die soon. This scares us. This scares you in particular because you’re you and you’re fragile. I am you. I am Mommy. Mommy makes cocktails for Daddy but Daddy doesn’t come home so now she’s drunk and alone. We’re never really sober. Mommy thinks she’s alone but you are here, right? We have a house party. We have a party in the house that Mommy and Daddy built years and years ago and I’m blowing balloons. Red and Purple and White... I am you. You are the balloons, wet with tears. You are Daddy too. You are Daddy to me. Mommy is popping balloons. The sound goes Boom. Boom Boom Boom. I saw Mommy crying and I watched her pop her pills. I wonder about medication. Meditation. Where’s Dad? I saw you seeing me, now where’s Daddy? I am so alone. I am. I am Mommy. You are me. You see me crying but don’t know whether to intervene or not. You see me practicing solitude and assume it’s a thirst trap. I’m not thirsty. The lights in the kitchen are broken so I accidentally pour my chocolate milk on the floor. The floor gets sticky, almost like it’s crying. Mommy, why my Mommy? Daddy takes Mommy to the hospital and says I don’t need to know anything. But I already saw Mommy crying, Daddy. I know everything. I am Mommy. I know nothing. I am Mommy. I am. Mommy left a little blue boy to die back in her American Manor. Mommy’s feeling wrong and right about her ability to hurt others. You know you hurt Mommy once, don’t you? You don’t even know. We opened a door and forgot how to close it. Mommy loses her keys. You are Mommy. And the taste disappointment lingers. Mommy is so disappointed in me I know she is although she never says much. Daddy isn’t home, where is Daddy? Mommy calls Daddy and they are laughing. I want to laugh too. I want to laugh so bad. The lights in the living room are broken so Mommy and I light candles and play Scrabble. Daddy is scrambling eggs and pouring wine. It’s wine time. Mommy loses Scrabble on purpose and it makes me sad. Daddy masturbates on the terrace while Mommy and I bake bread. Mommy, I pooped my pants. Mommy, I spilt my milk. Mommy, my penis is so big and so heavy. Mommy tells me to shut up. I abused myself because Mommy did too. I blame Mommy. I am Mommy. Mommy abuses herself because I once abused myself. I abuse Mommy because Daddy doesn’t love us. But I love me. I love Mommy. I am Mommy. You are me. You’re not Mommy. It feels so good to cry sometimes.