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It all began when I was still a young child at Cambridge.
Paw Paw was the janitor, and we lived in a small room next to the boiler. Nights brought what I can only describe as shaky peace broken occasionally by the pills. My grandfather was undeniably mentally ill, but at the time I had no frame of reference to begin to understand the situation I was born into. I didn't attend school. Ever. My only introduction to the world outside of that basement, that dungeon, that prison came at the age of 13. The first time I remember feeling the blossoming of desire to leave.
I loved Paw Paw, but the beatings had transformed him into a stranger as the frequency increased and he decided to stop speaking to me. Months went by when he would utter nothing more than grunts and indecipherable mutterings under his breath.
My tears, cries, and sleepless nights
littered with my "spells" did nothing more than ignite his rage, and the night came then it happened. He managed to buy Jack Daniels for his birthday, and after polishing off most of the bottle, drenched himself with the remainder.
The planets were aligned as far as I'm concerned.
He signed his own death warrants more times than I can count over the years. The wooden matches next to his rolling papers called to me, and I burned that motherfucker where he lied. I ran until my lungs burned as hot as the smoking pile of ash I left behind me.
The rest of my childhood was spent rolling joints for the Church of Kadin chained to Mike Ward's washing machine. The flamingo wallpaper was my only reprieve. I hung myself yesterday and haven't been able to stop breathing. I've tried to bite my tongue, but it hasn't swelled up enough to close my wind pipe.
Fuck my life.

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from Zeno Thermonuclear Decomposition, released April 24, 2010

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The Church of Ghosts Fredericksburg, Virginia

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