what is it?
tiny molecules like dipping dots served from a machine called the human body, is that what has been added up and multiplied and groomed to be called a family?
where is it?
does the stitching have to be respected, cherished or even loved? do you have to show up for the roll call of your life to be considered part of the pack, or can the lone wolf still survive with this notion of a familiar unit just a distant memory?
can it get any louder?
tight tiny fists clenching words that mustn't escape the mouth and underline all the important facts, facts becoming fiction becoming truth becoming lies becoming blown up and distorted, have you determined my preconceived notion of what the hell is going on?
is it even worth it?
in the grand scheme of things, its etched into the skin, flows with the blood, and will be carried from here to there and it will be this vessel that houses all of the things that aren't associated or are associated but that i have built out of all these ruins.