so i decide to just give in. they know i won't eat them, they know me too well to expect something like that. maybe i'll just throw them out the window. anything to stop the creaking and the flood of memories of that basement. beanbags and candles and tornadoes and dog shit all in a rush. card tricks and lost gifts, they are all left there, and that is where they should stay.

i don't understand what they are trying to say. i mean, i know they can't really "say" anything, but it's not like im crazy. they were creaking in a way that reminded me of the little house my dad built, the one i thought was for his barbies a and transformers that he was going to buy. the creaks were probably not meant for memories though, maybe just to make me think a way.

leftover scraps of onions line my pockets, why do they do taht to me?
inside my pants, there are: plenty of gnarled tree roots for me to munch on and
none of
the things that i truly need.
i need an old tire, with the wires poking out and getting stuck in my hand so that i am pulling them out for days. that day was so nice, a fall cold, the trees silent and heavy with morning fog. my dad drove out to bring me a tire and have a laugh at my expense. all my tires threadbare and worn. hah hah funny to him.