Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty
Oh, so cold.
Morning sweat.
They’ve started by stripping the limbs of the trees—thick, tall brown sticks.
But at least he’s talking.
Commas. No commas. Why does this have to be so complicated?
I think I’m falling asleep while I’m driving, and all the chips are gone.
Another x-ray in a year.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
I take my headphones off because I can’t possibly be hearing what I’m hearing.
“I don’t have any regrets…’cause I was me.”