Addict

Mahogany maple syrup runs in spider web lines. My father never uses the stuff, he eats pancakes, powdered, butter moist. When I was a child, he knew more of straightness. Lines and razors were friends. One night he tried to die by his hand. A girl jumped before he walked to the ledge. Her mangled body wore the rails like a girdle, her limbs so thin they became a blood putty. Angel, her name. They had to lift the train to take her out.