Where am I right now? That’s probably the first thing you want to know. A setting will help you picture me. Then you can decide your opinion on me. If I told you I was in an alley way surrounded by some stoners you’d probably fix your reading glasses lower on your nose and turn on your judgement eyes: “poor messed up kid, what is she doing with her life?”. But if I told you I was in a nice big house with wooden floor boards doing homework at my desk you’d probably assume I was average, and worthy of your approval. Maybe you’d compare me to your own daughter, or some Mary Anne you go to school with (my name is Sam if you care to know, not Mary Anne). But honestly, I could invade a first-class mansion or kick back on the grungy streets and still be the same person in every one of my burning garbage bones.

Where I am isn’t either of those places, by the way. I am not in the world. I’m not in a house or outside of one. I’m not in a real place. Maybe you’ve been where I am once or twice or a million times in your life and are trying really hard not to go back to it. Too bad for you I’m going to remind you of something you didn’t like. And if you’ve never been here before: welcome to the very secure space between the rock and the hard place. It gets pretty comfortable here after a while. I am six feet under, buried deep. I am underground. I’m lying in a coffin made of metal. That way the earth doesn’t cave in around me. It’s a small dark room. I’m reclining on a slightly uncomfortable loveseat, blowing smoke out of my mouth with the straightest face you’ve ever seen. I tilt my head back and am content. Very little air gets into my little gray box, even though I’ve made some sort of chimney to stop this being “buried alive”. But I’ve gotten used to that. The itching, panicked babbling in my lungs and the tightness in my chest is just like background noise.  But don’t think I’m getting emotional on you. Just remember that everything I might tell you about myself is excess flowery shit; totally separate from the straight-standing body that is me. Above: scampering feet and scratching claws in the dirt. Whistling hot breath muffled by the thick metal. Chuckling, muttering, laughing. Sometimes crying or screaming.