As they spoke the words that I let crush the very foundation of my soul,
I climbed under and rock and hoped to die.
My rock was a sleeper sofa in an abandoned garage with my truck’s exhaust
Filling the void in the air and my soul.
How could she say I was a murderer when even the detective could see it was an accident.
I understand now though, because it wasn’t long before I was convinced of the same.
Useless, worthless, hopeless monster is what I came to see in myself,
As I clung to their every word as it was the definition of my spirit.
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