JoeJee

I shout a lot. My grandfather knows this well. He is an ill man. I make his heart beat all the more fainter as we progress through our ticking and tocking actualities. I beg him now as I did then leave out of my head. He knows not his place inside. I love him like a man would and should love his grandfather. He raised my father to be a moron, now he has learned how not to treat his bloodline. Especially he is careful as he knows of the venom inherited in me. My box room smells as though a thousand beeswax candles have blessed the walls with their soot. The dreary curtains once bright are now laced with dirt and grease. Four motley walls repr