thanks pase, my dad is thanking you too.
My Grandparents have their creepy, old hands balled-up in anger and they're shaking them at you pase. "Why?" they keep yelling, from amidst the community street cats that they have so senilely taken in under their care. "Why?" is what I keep hearing, echoing through the long, damp nights and into my dreams. Where even there, I hear them screaming in fits of bitter disgust. My unconscious sleep is dark and I fear from being labeled an outcast... a black sheep, the real black sheep. "How you gonna rip it like this son?" funnels into my head from what is now my parents' voices from across the lawn of stray cats! Will I ever be able to dream again?
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