Decimals To Fractions And Back Again

I was raised by my mother's hatred. She called me by my father's name and beat me with the fire iron when she caught me trying on his olds suits. My sisters were saved from her wrath, but she said she saw his violence in my eyes. I was the bastard son that reminded her of the monster husband. - - - I haven't lived a long time, but I've been through a lot. I've played culprit and victim too many times to tell them apart anymore, but I remember it all too well. Most of all, I remember the words. I've been given the greatest of all compliments, and I've been called things worse than what most people hope to never be called. Once you've witnessed both ends of the spectrum, what's left? After you've seen it all, what do you do? - - - Sleeping and I aren't on good terms, but after tonight - after tonight I think I can sleep again. I can feel my arms and legs breaking down into bones and flesh, seperated by a freezing river of blood. My wrists are waterfalls and the sink the sea. My eyes feel like marbles in my head, and my skin is made of torn sheets of paper, all held together by stapled freckles. My insides are shutting down, and my mind has fallen to the back of my head to hide from the light shining through my clear eyes. - - - What the fuck was that? - - - I've been staring at fireworks for my entire life, and I've been watching things explode even longer. These fires in the sky are nothing to peak my interest anymore. I'd rather stand with my arm wrapped around your waist, smile on my face and fingers playing a song on your ridcage. I'm staring into the face of the man who pulled you into the night, and he's trying not to catch my eyes. He's burning my fingers as we walk side by side down a splintered street of the city we once called home. Now it is nothing more than our cage.