We need air. No allegiance to the queen.

When my parents divorced we moved into a house with another family. My mother had no concept of working or paying rent. We moved into one of the bedrooms. My sister had a bed. I had to share a bed with my mom. She would get drunk before bed. She would pull me to her and put my head on her breast. She would rub her hands all over me. She would put her hands on my underwear and rub while whispering to me “You’ll never leave me.” I hated it. I hated her. I hated myself for letting this happen. After a year I finally told her to stop and started sleeping on the floor. She said I just wanted to get away so I could jerk off like my father. I was ten. I had no idea what she meant. We finally moved out. I had my own room, but it became a prison cell. I wasn’t allowed to leave that room unless I had to go to the bathroom, eat or go to school. At three o’clock in the afternoon I had to be in my room. I couldn’t have friends or phone calls. All I had was a little black and white TV, a record player and my books. Those were my escape. I would with TV and pretend I was part of those happy families. I was the characters in the books I read. I was the singer on the records I listened to.