Take your hands off of me!
I said get away from me!
Only you don't understand it cause the words that are coming from my mouth are...
"Damn it, L! How many times do I need to tell you to pick up, wipe off, clean up your _____ (insert typical mother rant hear.)
I CAN NOT DO THIS ALONE!" I yell.
Really wanting to throttle him,
to give my hands something to do
Art Nagle! Damn you, Art Nagle!
You were supposed to be here!
I picked you!
I am not supposed to be doing this alone.
Damn you! Damn you! Damn you for dying!
And damn me for only having two arms, two legs, two ears and one over-wrought tired and lonely brain!
I scream, "Death sucks!" and I slam the door.
And then later, I pick up and keep moving forward.