Why do I feel like I'm about to die every single second of this miserable life? The anxiety boils in my chest, I'm never getting any rest. Why does it hurt to be alone on this rock, suffering in the junkyard full of all my broken parts? I'm never coming back again. Catatonic panic binge. There's a place in my hometown, they called it "Buttfuck Hill" when teachers weren't around. Older men in pick-up trucks taught me to be ashamed of lust. There's a place behind the park, a frozen stream and rotting couch, where crushed beer cans litter the ground-- foreign coins no longer worth a dime...not in the currency of these times.