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.