alone in bed. the sheets are dark
and the window is darker, a flat square of night in a dimly lit room.
the little lamp is draped in a red cloth, lace patterned,
like some italian restaurant over on fourth avenue
out there, the city beckons, like a vast pool of concrete and lights.
I yearn to dip my toe in, toenails painted blue, and then slide in over my head.
the cool smoke and night chatter drowning the hot pain in my chest.
I read once that the heartstrings can snap leaving you to die
literally die of a broken heart
well that's kind of what my insides feel like. red and bitter.
except it's not my heart that's the problem, it's the habit of heartbreak.
the air is so cool on my skin, pure and clean.
the wisps of smoke float out into the night,
I turn out the lamp and cough into my pillow.