I sold my past today for two $100 bills.
In case of regret, I can buy it back for $26 more.
The brick fell on my chest and the tears started to roll.
This is really what it means, to move on, to have control.
I convulse with sadness as I drive home.
The same home we shared not long ago.
In the truck ahead sits a young girl about twelve,
perplexed is she by the tears streaming down my face.
She grabs her sister's arm and points.
I couldn't be any more of a disgrace.
Who have I become and what have I lost?
Where is the gain in all of this torment?
The city breathes of us, the possibilities.
The city spreads lies between its teeth.
What it is to be a human again,
to befriend who I was a year ago;
I don't recognize who that is any longer.
90 days' worth of take-backs and maybe's,
90 nights of gentle reminders that suffering is a choice.
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