And Their Gravestones Read: "A Fucked Up Pair of Genes"

Arguing.

My house is where I live, I have no home.

My house is full of arguing.

Times are hard on everyone, the people I live with have been smacked in the face a few times too many.

There is a very stiff air in the place that I live. Like no one wants to admit that we are going through a rough time.

Today I asked a question. I don't even remember what it was, but it was obviously something that I should have known not to ask.

My mother.

The one with all the stress. Having to raise a family is hard by yourself. I know that.
But it shouldn't be as hard as she's making it seem.

Spending all of our extra money on her drugs and booze would help pick up some of the money that we need to keep my brother from being taken by the state.

Instead of admitting she has a problem, she'll go out and get some more beer and smoke herself some more dope.

I'll come back up here and cut myself a little bit deeper.

And after that we'll go on pretending that we don't have any problems.