I cried

then again, I always want to.

I'm not usually so emotional, in reality. I just sit there and let the feelings, or lack thereof, wash over me and I feel too light and lost to be anchored to the ground, and so my head fills up with tears but my stingy eyes find no joy in shedding them. So I sit, and I don't cry, and I think and I wonder.



I wake up every morning, exhausted, with a question on the tip of my tongue. I look in the mirror and ask myself the question. I stump myself every time.

What do I have to live or?

And it's not in a suicidal way, and it's not in a death wish way. It's just that I can't answer the question, day after day.


It's moments like these, the times between action and sleep, when the phone rings and you're not sure if it did, where a cat hisses and it's almost mistaken for a person.


Who can we ask now, please?

I'm a policeman, she's an old Western marshal
long neck double barrel shot gun
sleep tugging at my eyelids now

Good night, dear.