Soy Un Perdedor
You can't write if you can't relate Trade the cash for the beef for the body for the hate And my time is a piece of wax falling on a termite That's choking on the splinters --from Loser by Beck I wanted to avoid madness. The days have been so calm. But it wasn't to be. Monday evening was nothing special. Just Jenny, Abby and me doing our evening routines. Jenny surfing Facebook and texting with the pinché motherfucker, Abby writing songs and playing her guitar in her room, and me my head in the clouds, thinking all was quiet on the western front. It wasn't to be. Jenny, sitting in a corner of the sectional, said to me, "I just want to warn you I think I'm going to have a breakdown." I didn't move to comfort her, although she made it clear she was on the knife's edge. I'm not sure why I didn't move to comfort her. No matter, I just didn't. She began to cry, a deep inconsolable cry, tired of living with a terminal illne...