nothing makes sense to me tonight.
i've been writing for hours.
i've drank beers. what's this about?
i should have said i miss you.
i'm writing about things too close to me.
i'm writing the words of a crazy person.
the person trying to write about things
that haven't happened.
i'm a fake person. i have city of money driven
people inside me. the people want to
walk in their sleep into the night.
nothing makes sense.
i miss you, i said. my fingers itch.
i'm dying from my face. no longer will i be able to see.