Just a little more.
It’s a real shame. The best part of the day is feeling the Xanax starting to kick in. But even that I’m grateful for. It’s 11 after 1 am and if not for that tiny pill I’d be up till 4. I’ll sleep and there’ll only be nothing for me between the time my eyes fall shut and when they open in the morning. There used to be wonderful vivid dreams. They’ve left me too. Left me for better nights. For better men. The floor of my apartment is unswept. My bare feet pick of whatever is there. The broom is in the closet and a large thin legged spider lives between its handle and the wall it leans against. I’ve stopped going outside. The mailman is an asshole. He gets a kick out of cramming letters and weekly adverts and sample voter ballots into my mailbox. The longer I ignore the mail the more the mailman crumples and stuffs into the box. I hate him and the bills and pre-approved credit card offers he never stops bringing. The cat finally came back. He was gone for more than a week. I figured him dead. But he came back. He looked like shit. So thin his ratty black fur clung tight over his hips. My guess is he accidentally got locked in somewhere. Maybe someone’s garage. It was good to see him at the back porch. If he made his way out maybe he’ll help me find my way out too. But probably not because he knows if I find my escape there’ll be no one to keep him fed.