Your god damned uncle changed you some when you were five more than once.
Your near-sighted family toasting healthy alive.
Nothing else.
Your burning southern shelter pushed you north to arrive
and ignore a close friend some ecstasy taking off new clothes for the truth.
Who's Jon anyway?
What does he mean?
What did you expect me to say?
Salty bodies of your half-brothers born reside behind locked doors.
Fever-pitched, drunk regret, holes in your lungs staying alive.
A lie.