I’ve opened all the windows and doors in my apartment. None of my neighbors are the same from way back when I first lived here. I still don’t sleep through the night. My friends and loves are all gone. I haven’t gotten over the last day I held my last cat. She fell asleep forever in my hands. Then I buried her in the backyard where her favorite tree used to be. My bed is finally new and my sister gave me sheets for Christmas. But I’ve got no one the share that good feeling of shivering down into a good bed after a long day of a shit job, too long of a drive home again and 5 or 6 drinks. It’s just another Thursday on an otherwise perfect night. I’m stoned on rye and an old half smoked spliff I found atop my unplugged microwave oven. I cleared off the kitchen counter of old mail. Some of it opened and some of it sealed and passively ignored as a grave. I’ve stopped believing in God. Maybe the saddest outcome to a desperate decision. Loneliness. True, true, deep dark blue loneliness is what will kill heaven for sure. There is no light with out fire. And I’ve sat here long enough to see the last of the embers go out cold. But who needs heaven when the story that gets you to Hell so much more fun to tell.