sleeper deep

Who even writes these? Like I am mesmerized, that craiglist is a platform for such interesting writing (i didn't do this one btw) I promise I'm not a craiglist addict I just keeping going on because I'm working on this new project

here's proof

I'm being very secretive i know lol

I was fragile enough to pass out and when I woke up I was shrinking in steaming hot bath water / it occurred that we had probably never met--reoccurring dream the size of an unwanted birthmark / I'll pay to divorce the egg shaped mark from my skin forever / coats of makeup and tattoos and only my burn relieved me from it's frightening blemish / I used to tug on my sister's hair and ask why mom and dad had created us / I thought they'd spent out choosing the mouselike ears I had, and the right time so they could have me in April. I wondered if dad had concentrated his genes and worked extra hard, I had his nose and dark green eyes, my sister received the same feet as my mother, and the rest of her oddly resembled our pet goldfish but she punched me when I said this so I stopped believing it. / this little piggy went to market / he would sing and drum on our toes the next morning needles poked me in the heel and my feet smelled of old cigars and aftershave and all the receipts in the back of his station wagon / In fact I knew Mom disapproved of my father, running errands became impromptu blind dates—and the third wheel rolled to the card aisle and bothered old ladies / my questions ranged from “Are you allergic to 9 year olds like me?” and “Wanna see the face I drew on my sister’s armpit?” and my masterpiece “Is brown a color or a shade, sometimes when I look in the toilet I want to keep note of all the different browns.”/ they must’ve been surprised because sainted of digging their nails into my cheeks and leaving mothball and laundry smells in my hair—the store manager asked my name and I debuted, “THERE’S AN UNACCOMPANIED MINOR NAMED LINUS DOYLE, PLEASE COME CLAIM HIM IF HE BELONGS TO YOU” / I stood next to lottery tickets and people smiling over their orange bottles with such tiny writing it made my knees hurt and marlboro’s but my mom changed the mood and crushed my hand swinging me out the door by one hand and managing to frown the rest of the way home—I took the groceries in pretending the sidewalks was made of molten lava / when I was 11, I was told to start praying but the only thing I could think to tell God was that I wished to be a flying turtle or at least a guinea pig—I had friends and a couple enemies but nobody gave me real hugs anymore because I wasn’t supposed to cry when I fell but it was new to me, during wintertime there was nothing to do, and I liked pretending I was in a pool and everyone was looking at me from underwater—people stopped feeling sorry for me and my uniform of blue socks/cheese sandwiches with ketchup / A week later I was felt up by an old man who said I was getting too skinny and he laughed with only five teeth showing, I wanted to break his thick, black framed glasses because he kept lowering them as if he was ready to tell a secret and twitched his eye in my mother’s direction—who looks like the lady with the grocery cart filled with a rainbow of plastic bags and fainted on the sidewalk every august / my knees still hurt / one time I dropped a sock on that sidewalk but I was too afraid to get it because I think the ground smelled like urine and old broccoli / vegetables and I were enemies for a few months after that. 

that is all my friends,

casey