Secret Things
They stayed up all night together and talked about secret things. Secret things like the nature of god and exploitation and mental illness. It was the best year of his life. He felt connected to the universe, real and also perceived. Everything was full of love. And hate. Pure hate. Rage if hate flared from the hateful demons' breath. Satan loves it when you smile. Or frown. I don't give a shit really. Emotions are nothing to me anymore. After that accident. He got really good at crocheting and basketweaving. Some people thought maybe his head injury made him "more sensitive." "Shmore shmensitive." Stupid fucking god damn cunt asswhere shit. Sorry, tourettes. It's cool, you don't have to apologize. I let people walk all over me everyday. I guess kinda like a sidewalk, but prettier and less resilient. Less rocks, and more genitals. Then I bought a gun and a lot of problems were solved. Then I bought bombs and even more problems were solved. Yay weapons! Boo humans!
