Screwed

Need.

 Like the turn of a screw.  

Need.  

Tighten what's been screwed loose. 

Need to know that this isn't all that this life can amount to, two.  

As the seconds pass, three.

Free.

 As the numbers float from their mouths, need.

 Primal.  Instinctual.  

Need, neither statisticians, nor numbers.

 I can do the math; my background is right.  

I need to know that I've chosen right.  

Left, the side and those gone.

I need to know that everything that I've pondered has been right

and that I've made the right 

choices.

That everything that I have ever done 

and all the bullshit that I have had to wade through before I made it through the barbed wire

alive

has been right.

That this smile hasn't been misplaced.

That you can't just touch a little girl in the dead of night, 

right?

Need.  

I need to know that somewhere, out there.

Life comes with choices.  

That's what I need.

Death brings those voices.

Those that listen and ghost over bare skin in my sleep.  

The ones that I talk to when the world gets too much and I drown knee-deep.  

I need to know that there is something after

because if there isn't, then what the hell have I been doing-freely living 

what the hell have I been doing-continuous giving

what the hell have I been doing?

And I can go on through the INGs and the fake deep 

end where I will drown as the trap door falls and the curtain call sends 

those that never even knew that the end had began.  

I need to know where I stand.