When the sun sneaks above the horizon
he is awake to see it
but that's the only thing in his life
that one can envy

He never dreamed of being this
although
he never dreamed of being a factory worker either
but that's what he was before

His truck stalls
he hopes it doesn't work on the second try
but it does

He drives on out into the field
the fact that the smell of rotted flesh
doesn't bother him anymore
bothers him

He spots one
a blonde girl
she might have been beautiful
at one point
but now its hair and teeth had mostly fallen out
and its skin is was covered in sores and scrapes

Its emaciated body reminds him
of those TV commercials
that used to air
about starving kids in Ethiopia
she could have won Miss America with that body
he thinks
what a shame
the corpse gives one last kick of life
as if to say
*******, dude

No matter how many times he'd seen it before
it still kind of freaks him out

He shoots it in the head
just to be sure

Then he and his partner lift the body
and heave it into the truck bed

Blood leaking from the bullet hole
gets on his jeans
**** it
he thinks
That'll take forever to get out

Later, when he lights the match
he always thinks that he should say a prayer
or something
but he never does

After work he visits the bar
spending the rest of his night
trying to forget
what he does for a living

I can't remember
a night when I wasn't lulled to sleep
by the comforting sound of gunshots

I try
every night
I dig a little deeper
a little further back
nothing yet

Instead I remember
the night my father
carrying the triggerman's burden
turned the barrel on himself

I dig back further
to Mom's face
her soulless eyes
and the impatient hunger of an
starving child

The first time I watched  a man die
it wasn't a man anymore
they told me
just like my mother wasn't
my mother anymore

Further still
to the newscast
warning everyone to stay
inside their homes
glass shattering
my father's shotgun
pulled from retirement

I dig deeper
a faint and fuzzy
barely breathing memory
Dad smiling
the plop of a lure in the water
a tug on the line
excitement
laughter
more tugging and

BANG

****!
I lost it

Sometimes
I think about you
and about the gun
on the table beside my bed
in the sanctuary

I think about staying up late
even though it was a school night
and macaroni and cheese

I couldn't cook it to save my life
but you never minded
you were just going to smother it
with ketchup anyway

We'd watch old horror movies
and you'd laugh
when you should have screamed
and fell asleep before the end

I'd tuck you in
kiss your forehead
and channel-surf for some comedy
to lighten the mood

I think about the day it happened
how I secretly hoped the gun would jam
or misfire
and you would come at me
jaw unhinged
looking nothing like my angel

Then we'd be together
eating the flesh of some nameless passersby
yours
probably covered in ketchup

But the gun didn't jam
my aim was unfortunately perfect

I think about how
I was probably lying
when I told you
that you wouldn't feel a thing

The only thing I like
about nights like this
is that it gets so dark
and the skies are so clear
that they look like
the little boy who trapped us all here
decided to have mercy
and pin-***** little tiny airholes
in the lid of our mason jar

but there aren’t enough
to make a difference

Her lit cigarette burns
so brightly from the porch
against the darkness
like a lighthouse
...or a bug zapper

I don’t see how anyone
can smoke at a time like this
when the air is so heavy
it’s like breathing cement

there is a sunken silhouetted imprint
where you used to sleep
you’d spent so much time there in those last days
I don’t think it will ever forget you
things are not going to spring back
to the way they were before
no matter how much we want them to
try as we might not to
when we go
we leave behind residue
your room still smells like you
your fingerprints are still resting on your keyboard
your reading glasses, unfolded, lay on the night stand
beside your bed
next to your half-finished crossword puzzle book
and a pen
everything is just how you left it
but different
heavier maybe
plastic
like an elaborate stage full of props
like there’s no way this is real
but it is
and we can’t stand to look
at the world you left behind
at all of the residue
forced to contemplate the reality
that you are no longer in

My eyes are pulsating
surrounded by redness
from the overuse of my tear ducts lately

Pain radiates throughout my chest
in perfect cadence with my breath
in go all my plans and dreams of living for living sake
and out comes the remains:
shards of a self that was not whole to begin with.

It sort of looks like a painting I saw once
on the wall at a café
where I frequently perform
or whatever it is that I do

Whatever this is
a living, it is not
as I am all too often reminded

“What do you do for a living, Josh?”
I breathe
in go all the things I hate about myself
out comes everything else

I feel as though I’ve poisoned myself
and I feel as though I deserve it
but this is not a cut-myself cry about my feelings -emo *****-poet
lying in this bed, crying to his father
because someone hurt his feelings
these are not proud words

I am not that pathetic
am I?

I feel like a water balloon
pricked with a pin
not at the bottom
bursting all over in a two second eruption
but at the top
trickling
ever so slowly

Out  go
in comes
another moment further  from breakdown
one more breath closer
to laughing at myself in the mirror
and telling myself I’ll be okay

“What do you do for a living?”
I breathe
“Very funny, Josh, but how do you make money?”
I don’t