I rise up like a defeated despot
Climbing the steps to the noose.
The razor-coarse fibers
Scratch at my skin.

Hordes of humanity watch
And jeer my folly and celebrate
The imminence of my end.
If only I could join them…

But I am just a man
Staring past the steamed mirror
With the razor to my neck,
Late again, for the morning commute.

Hope is the morning sun
Peering in through my kitchen window
As I sip fresh steaming coffee alone.

Hope is the last workday before
My next day off, when I’m happy
For once, to wish away the hours.

Hope is awkward like a high school dance,
Like two virgins kissing
Beneath the gymnasium bleachers.

Hope is a grocery list fastened
To my refrigerator with a free magnet
Advertising a divorce lawyer.

Hope is a cracked wine glass, packed away
In a moving box that traveled from Kentucky to Illinois –
Just another casualty of the long journey.

A black cat creeps softly in the calm night air
Tracking a faint rustling amongst the tall grass.
A lost bunny with a broken hind leg, forgotten
By mother and siblings.

And the cat crouches lower, slowing its breathing
As it prepares itself.

Look away, if you must. It’s almost over now.
But know that even if you do not watch,
The night still watches you.