he takes his old wrinkled
notebook
and the black pen
and finds a
spot from which he can observe
the people
and write down what he
imagines to be their inner
conversations
......
Yeah, there were those times
when he talked with
grandma about God
and she told him what a horrible place
hell is
"You suffer every day but can't die."
"Every day?"
......
He went nine years without doing
it. Five of those
were spent in prison so it
was just normal
but the other four he spent
desperately trying and failing
He did look fine before
he got into hardcore drugs
and crime
......
She walked on tiptoes around the
house and
bounced a few times and
spun like a ballerina
and sang, "Today I don't wanna diiIiIIie."
It was rare for her
but he sure
was glad to see it. Glad and now
a bit anxious
......
there was
simply
no other way
some things just have
to be done
else you risk dying
from the urge alone
Urge can kill
......
there was a time when he’d
fear nothing more
than the bluntness of the
empty bottle
his torment
his nightmare, his hell
The bottle would be
all right as long as it stayed full
......
what else to do when
the rain falls so heavy
against the window
outside?
Get melancholic
get poetic
have a drink
have another
......
he sits alone in the
darkness
on a wooden chair
The walls surrounding him
have no
mirrors and
the windows are covered
by the thickest blinds
......
he opened another beer
and sat on
the couch
but turned off the TV
He watched the kid
The kid was on his knees
before the coffee table
busy with
......
she kept saying how much she
hated her tattoos
and kept showing them
to us
"Got 'em when I was young and
dumb and now I
jus' wanna rip my skin off."
......