Kill the lights

Pushy. Loud. Obnoxious. Hyper-active. I've been bombarded with insults and curses, yet I never let them get under my skin. She was the dam that kept all the anger from rushing out of me in a flurried, furious rage. She would keep me from slicing up those lamed-winged idiots that kept returning to my club and trashing my music. I would just keep raving and ignore their insults. Then, it just became too much for me. Early one morning while I was at home, they had kicked in the door and broke most of my records. They popped the switches off of my turn table, spray painted the dance floor black, smashed the strobe lights, dumped about 90 gallons of our best cider on the floor, and invited me to a bonfire that destroyed my passion and my job. I screamed. I cried. I even attempted suicide.

I was on the brink of insanity.

Being of an unsound mind.

Staying in a dark, barren room facing the corner.

But she taught me that we're worth so much more, and I new she'd always be there for me.

Always.

Almost always.

Never.