Riot please.
The bartender witnesses all my indiscretions.
As I collect father figures.
Daddy?
The last stitch has come out.
I am naked.
The marks on my body create a pattern.
Of neglect.
I am no one left at home.
The husk of the scorpion falls from my shoulders.
The tender meat within is revolting.
I order another drink.
“Those eyes…” He tells me.
I stare.
I am callous.
and Riot please.
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