Yesterday I was alone and afraid,
looking around at the mess I had made;
wondering how to make sense of it all,
wishing I had a good lawyer to call.
Instead I drank coffee and had me a smoke,
straining my mind to conjure a joke;
nothing came, nothing ever does,
‘cept tidbits + snipits, an unending buzz.
So I wrote what I could
and then I stood,
alone and half-naked in my living room;
searching the closet for some kind of broom
to sweep up the pieces and clean up the dust;
what’s left of my life and my heart made of rust.