Your alcoholic father diednwhen the vessels in his throat, they capsized,nand drowned him in blood, his own.nnAnd so your despondent mother triednto fill in all the gaping holes in her lifenwith escalating addictions alone.nnYou left home when you turned sixteennwith some people you met and admired,nbecause they denied the vices that plagued your home.nnBut their aggressive stance began to seemnan abusive form unto itself so you took flight.nYou hitchhiked out of the city alone.nnYou tell me what you've seen,nyou imply the in betweens,nyou leave searing red ellipses at the end.nnYou think that we won't understand.nYeah, we'll never understand.nBut we can think we'll understand, we won't.nWe won't.nnAnd now you wake as dusk creeps innand strip off all your filthy clothes,nstained with wine, you take them to a laundromat far from home.nnYou'll watch rows of gleaming machines spinnbut cycles of another sort don't touch your mind.nThey're communicated through blood, your own.nnYou tell me what you've seen,nyou imply the in betweens,nand leave searing red ellipses at the end.nnYou say that we can'y understand.nOh, but we'll never understand.nBut if you think that, well, then, yeah. we won't.nWe won't.