M. Spio

I suppose men, even myself, are perpetually boys. The sons of parents who provide the staples of what makes up a life_ a home, an example of what it means to be human, however fucked up that may be. We are molded by impressions and an example, single days that stick out, and wounds that split us open and never close. We take on other people__ pain and sometimes make them ours.

I will look at the past, but I will not stare at it.