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It was awkward at first, but then it became routine. When I started working at Big Don’s the walk-in was a maze, and everywhere I put a dirty six-pan seemed like a personal offense to whoever was in the dish pit that day. I was an outcast, but I was willing to learn. And the…
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I feel my brain melting into the same complacency as the vermin I exploit. You can do a lot: justifying how these scum are able to shuffle into giving their hard-earned value up to a thug like me, deeming yourself as superior to a stain, cutting off generations of stupidity. I used to go the…
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Nevermind the hatred. The pulse of fear and lethargy produce the racket in my heart. The constant state of needing to sit down but never comfortable when my body sinks into the shape my spine has etched in. I can’t sleep on my shoulders anymore; the compromise being staring at the ceiling fan awaiting whichever…
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I hate the way they changed you. Skin sloughing off broken boundaries. Influx of charred carbon scattered along your thighs. The tubes. The mechanical wheezing of compression and release, lungs collapsed drowning in sewage. I hate the way they look at you. The fact they gave you a name. All eyes on Parkinson’s needle scratching…
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Assumed, but when I was in elementary school whenever I went to the bathroom the floor was coated in stale piss. Your glow-in-the-dark sneakers would damn near stick to the floor and leave you struggling against an embedded sock or lack of balance. Pissing contests have a long legacy in public restrooms. The first thing…
ZCUMCORE 