The rules I play by, well, they don’t work in this life. The referee calls me out when I want to complete myself, to breathe, to shake off these cobwebs and stretch out these sore limbs. I’ve grown tired of life’s rules. Here comes the anger — it’s an acrid taste in my mouth and a deep, burning flame in my stomach. Blue-hot flames lapping underneath my skin. My face twists into a complete scowl and I have the desire to hiss and spit at that stupid referee who comes near. I feel ugly, but it’s a beautiful and tragic thing.