( it doesn’t take him a week to regret it.    it hardly takes an hour for him to even    contemplate it. no, it takes watching what    was his his his walk out on him, the way    he wanted. it takes smelling the salty    tears to make him reach out. it takes the    feeling of anger, sadness, betrayal crac-    kling in the air for him to toss the one on    his lap off by the hair. )

   he doesn’t look for him.    he doesn’t deserve him.

   ( he feels death would be well deserved.    a reprieve from the madness. )

   ( but then he hears the sounds of bragging,    and the anger boils within his veins again.    it’s been more than one week, more than    two, and he cannot drag himself to look    for what was his. no one flinches MUCH    when he destroys the bragger & anyone    else who dared, silently motioning for    someone to take necessities to him him    kitten his, as long as they didn’t touch him. )