Sickening hags, half naked, draped in the contents of Abercrombie bags— high priced rags sliced up the thigh just to entice a guy. And here I am so sad I had a chance but alas I wear less-than-pants and thus have gained no inner circle entrance. I’m a simple cell organism in the eyes of their egotism. I’m bitter. Labeled a quitter. All alone with sick thoughts of loading a sniper rifle this winter. Smoke plumes inside my gloom and I’m invisibly behind an Auschwitz chimney in my mind. Ash and snowflakes clash with my aiming eyelash blinking, thinking, squinting splinter thin, pulling triggers-flash-flash-flashing floods of the hate I’m sinking in.