Busy

I woke up dizzy from my bed. As I shook my head, remnants of beer felt like they were hitting the walls of my skull in peaceful waves. It was a soft pain.
In the other room my dad was sawing off the kitchen sink. My mother was screaming. People I only see one month each year. Busy.
My feet trampled the floor. I went to the fridge, took out the milk carton and drank it all without saying a word. Completely ignored. The room rumbled a roar. The sink puked out a geyser of dirty water.
And then I looked outside. The streets were paved with meat. Endless concrete blocks supported each other in a field of grey. Cars raced each other into holes, around corners like cockroaces hiding from the light. Here and there green eyes poke color holes into the asphalt and glass. They seem weary and ready to close forever. Tell me this is all natural. Tell me this is how its supposed to be.
For a split second, a memory chews my heart. I remember warm lips. A second. And then gone. My vision returns.