Stitches From the Crow Men

When I was young, I took a tin can to the lip. Courtesy of my best friend. I ran away crying for mother. (This was my first set of(flesh) stitches). My cat(blue) had a fetish for crapping in the bathtub. Dad got sick of the cat shenanigans. So, I never saw that color of that blue cat again. (My second set of (broken spirit) stitches). It was well past bedtime I was busy finishing a war. With a jar of plastic army men. Dad warned me a half dozen times to pack it in. He was blue collar tired and took a heavy hand to my hide. He's felt guilty ever since (a set of forever stitches for him). One day I snuck out of our house. Made my way to the farmers field and let out all his cows. For punishment the farmer wrapped a dead snake around my neck. There were no stitches, but it put an end to my cow rustling events. Brother and I once had an infamous butter war. Tossing and smearing it all over kitchen walls and floor. The fun and Hijinx were well worth the licking. My third set of stitches were in the belly from heartily laughing. Rachel was both babysitter and childhood phantom. Details are scumbled and quite unclear. I acquired a few stitches-the stiches of fear. One night mother was screaming. Blood smears on the bed sheets. Brother and a couple of crow men were present, I think. The crow men were doing unthinkable things. Then everything goes thankfully blank. I never saw mothers pretty face again. (My fourth set of stitches were mental). A permanent crown of blackness nailed tight to my head. *Scattered memories toward the end of childhood...