*Crawley's Mom* 04.21.2013

Death is slowly stealing my memories.

What I mean is those in my memories, those I've counted on these years, wondering: "What are they up to now?" are slowly dying off.

So, when my mind reaches out to them, and all I get back is a grave; when it reaches out and all its gets back is those mourning.

It's like I've nowhere to turn to anymore. Everything is just one big funeral.

My memories are being stolen.

I'm consumed with death. I beat off the grave dirt with exercise. But my heart is not up to the strenuousness. It's killing me.

I run from death and have a heart attack.

Everyone that's ever known me I've wronged. Maybe stupidly or slightly or imaginatively. But I've wronged them.

I remember as a boy. Me and my two best friends were running away. At Justin's house his parents confronted us as we was packing his stuff. They, parents, turned on me. Blaming me. Saying I was a stuck up, haughty kid and it's all my fault. I remember thinking: "Haughty!? Me!? I'm like that because I hurt inside. Shyness, fear, etc..."

Like a person walking with a fake leg being mistaken for a pimp walking a gangster step.

But, I remember, I could read everyone's minds. The father was trying to help his son. He could feel my pain but was attempting to divide and conquer rebelliousness. He was scared, sorry...

The mom really saw me as to blame. In her eyes I dragged Justin down. But she hurts just like me. I could feel it. She was sad.

It's been like that my whole life. I can commiserate with dozens of people at once. All these prisoners. All these guards. Every social contact that occurs. I actually feel what they feel. Each word. Each comment or disrespect, etc.

It's killing me, this. This feeling of everyone's feelings. - So, death is stealing memories and feelings. Death is easing the constant dialogue, commiseration... Is death my only friend?