Sometimes he babbles. He babbles like a crazed fucking lunatic. I wouldn't mind so
much if it didn't come out of a disproportionately small mouth on a twisted
asymmetrical face.

He says something about static in his head and his wants and needs but I can only
focus on the way the fat on his arms wiggles when he makes frantic gestures.

He says something about The weight that kept me down but also kept me grounded in
reality and I nod my head and smile and crinkle my eyes like one would do if their smile
was legitimate.

It feels burdensome that he exists near me. I can see him and hear him constantly.
Sometimes I can smell him. He is always so sweaty.

I'm half asleep on the bed and Out of all of the nothingness, I am every part of it. I seep
in through the cracks of that nothingness and fill every nonexistent space until I've
forced myself into something but I never like what that thing is so I tear it down and
rebuild it and tear it down and rebuild it and tear it down and collapse in the rubble and
wish I could ... What is he on about now? I close my eyes and sigh.

He's more like a sad puppy than a person. In place of a simple whine, he puts together
long strings of words. And he's not cute like a puppy either.

He asks me to look him in the eyes while he tells me something important. I do, and I
notice how the skin around his eyebrows is peeling. I free myself from the shackles
and float away until the rubble is just a faint dot in an empty plain. But no matter how
far away I get, that dot is still visible. I can't take my eyes off of it. I can't take my eyes
off of his eyebrow dandruff. Is he still talking?