catcher in the rye

you may grow up 
with a father who
beats 
right and wrong 
into 
your brain

you may think 
you understand 
the paths you deter upon

the paths unwind you
grind into your feet

but no one will tell you
that you are a whore
lusting on the people
the men and women
who feed all the same

the bottom of the stack
near
what are we 
looking for

too far down
to see the light