{ diego } d5 fin

sandiego bancroft --

There's questions in l i v i n g.

Connections between time frames, what keeps me here? Finger on the trigger, slow, steady, frigid breathing for twenty dollars, she moans Diego and I blink once, twice; they say necessities' the mother of creation. I only wish I cared. Why do regrets burn more than rewards, that's something I want to figure out- how to bend reality, I only do it for reactions anyways. D a r e d e v i l, and I keep my head under water, masked lips, I hear the audience scream and there's adrenaline in my finger tips. This; & this is what I live for. 

Secrecy under the form of loose lips, I was born a burden. Two deaf parents, an idiot child, we made our own language -- there's simplicity in silence. I've never been scared of it, always just questioned it, they shared hand signs together and I never picked up on my own parents voices. That's fine, a single cross, a thumb scratch over our hearts meant I love you -- two meant more so. I jumped off buildings for them, my mother was a nurse once; once, she stitches back alley warriors. Father with aspirations larger than my hands, neither could fine work without communication and we aren't taught that here.

We make them.

They signed my name, D a w n -- I share it with the sky I fall from. Sandiego Icarus Bancroft, I make up my own reality, you see, one second between now and the next, it's all I'm good for. For sex and make up stains and party tricks, I would make my own coffins- laying pipes between three story windows, toes grasping and I kept my eyes trained. Street watchers called me Diego, Diablo, and I always looked for ways to make them scream, excitement was all I lived for back then. Something to fill the streets outside that void house, silence eats at everything for too long- I need t h r i l l s. Jumping off of white ropes, hanging upside down -- spitting in the face of death at the age of thirteen.

What if he fucking dies?

What if I don't? 

What if I never, set myself ablaze and run into the ocean, what if I keep sea screaming forever? Licking knives, jumping between building roofs and I felt compassion in street watchers, dorado allies -- they are scared for me. The only ones who ever were. So I keep living, just to see my mother swipe her heart to mine, fingers pressed on my collar bone. Three digits, security, as a child loud noises scared me. Growing up in silence you grow accustom, like bats in caves, you grow scared of the light and you never dream of facing it -- only questioning it. But not me! Father becoming an oil driller like the rest of the district and he hated me for what I was, more so h o w. So loud, I only pictured his voice through frustrated grunts, pieced together my own answers and weaving them into a nice sweater.

But they'd never kick me out, and it breaks their heart to see me on my own, in a world so loud I live without them. I live without them -- it breaks my heart too, I think. If I focus on it, I think it'll kill me; I just- 

I can't stay. One swipe of the heart, dawn -- Diego, Diablo.

Part of me hates them.  

It's shitty, but I'm a sell out. Nobody's interested in back stories with midnight on their mind, "my place, two hundred," I read her lips, it's strange, being hollow and stone at once. Solidifying to survive, immovable object, my parents try to convince me to move back in but part of me enjoys the struggle. Hating myself, forcing myself into this shit, I hold my tongue, there's too much to understand, too much to answer and I constantly try to make more questions -- "is it a problem?" I bite her neck, self objectification and it's own destruction, black hole collapsing on itself, but she paid good money. Isn't that right, Diego? S l o w b u r n, slower subjects are easier to understand at least.

"Do you love me?" I know she doesn't. 

Is it wrong to wish she did? 

"Diego Doooooon Dieno!"

It all stops. Fully. I catch my own exhales, the dark audience clapping, I got here as a daredevil, as an idiot with a cause- I need questions. To build my own future and this is the only way out, hands in hands and it reminds me of falling fifteen feet. Do you love me? There's a buzz for some others, excitement and blurring and feeling afterwards, but it always feels so slow for me -- it just gets slower and s l o w. But hey, that's showbizz kid, desperado, I pull a rose out of the palm of my hand, rose petals falling from my mouth, I chew on them. Showing my hands, I pull a lady up to the stage, heart pounding and I feel it all. She feels nothing, "do you love me," I smirk, they love it. It, it never me and is it wrong to wish they did? To swallow in their whole being, I snap, behind her ear, a flinch, quiet breaking- I pull a rose petal from behind her head. 

They don't trust me- I wouldn't either. 

A single petal, folding into tens of tens like a deck of card and I pull one, f l u t t e r. Thousands of roses on the ground, "Vivian?" Her name burned into the rose, she blushes, "is that your name?"

"Yes-"

"I already knew."