She called me at 2am. Waking me to tell me. That her power went out. I said she should spend the. Rather the reason to be you,. By the time she came over. I fell asleep, apparently. Snoring, mouth open on my couch. And she found it rude to just. When I opened my eyes.

Write! March 26, 2013. Trying to reassemble the fragments. Paints of tears on a pillow splattered. Like a canvas of broken flesh. Streamed with the blood of many wrongs. Wondering if this earth is where I belong. Stop this hurt from within. This never ending malevolent spin. Before my will escapes me. Let me draw the crimson lines that will release me. From The pain and the shame. Let me set this up in flame.

If i ever become an alcoholic i can pinpoint the day it started. Thanks so much to the Boston Poetry Magazine! I had just left. That I hated the world. And full of white clouds. That it looked very much. Of raining a single sombrero. Raining down from the sky. I wanted a single sombrero.