My husband lost his shirt at cards; insolvent, he then drownedin slick Cancun on our honeymoon; years now, it still astounds how fast, how fast, a living hell can turn a life around. My godchild told me pointedly if she were to attemptto die that she'd succeed at once; her word she promptly kept,and took a hundred opiates and drifted to her death.
My punk rock pimp, a crush of mine, loved theater and art.He sodomized and strangled a young man who broke his heart.He packed a bag of bondage toys and left for foreign parts.
Before her death, my mother called and calmly sat me down;if she could do it all again, she'd have no children, none.She lived her life in anger and, despite us, all alone.
My father drank and slept around; he was a well-liked guy. .He said I love you once to me the night before he diedWas that a feeling come too late, or panic in his eyes?