in this dark, cold basement with my
poetry in my bra and ******* for so long. I can’t
remember when. I sing a song of loneliness
every morning after the coffee has kicked in. And

write about life outside this prison. And then I post
it all over the internet. My mood depends upon
how many likes I get. It’s a sad journey
this one that chose me. It’s left me isolated

and in poverty. I wallow in the wine each afternoon
when I see the lack of sales on the Amazon
Kindle. And every evening after I’ve been sufficiently
sozzled I tell myself ah, heck there’s always tomorrow.