If it’s defined as real, then it’s as real as in it’s consequences. What would a sociologist or psychologist think? Verdict’s in.

“Going to trial with a lawyer who considers your whole life-style a Crime in Progress is not a happy prospect.” 

-Hunter S. Thompson

I stood on my knees and yelled to the world, screamed out to anyone who would listen out on the docks in the marina outside my balcony, “just take me, just fucking take me! What is it you want from me, fucking take me you bastards!” Music blared.

I was crying yellow from painting all day. My apartment was splattered in yellow paint and the turpentine fumes were getting to my head. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I grabbed a speaker, and to hear the sound of silence, I bashed in my T.V. flat screen. I ripped the framed art from my walls, which I loved, and bashed them. Broken glass turned the apartment into a glass covered Great Lake.

I wasn’t insane. My neighbor sat on his porch, more crouched in the corner near my BF for mercy. I had none. “You work together, don’t you!” I screamed. Then I hurled a photographer’s camera over the balcony to make a statement. The guard below didn’t get it and returned it. I threw it back down onto the pavement. No more pictures. No more.

The sirens blared. They’d read my prescription bottles and hear my diagnosis. No one would ever hear the truth. There was a camera hidden in the bathroom and the neighbor was a spy. But they’d tell you it was all a lie.