scary sunday

few things feel as lonely

as the smell of Sunday laundry,

and stale beer in a sink

next to an empty fridge

you only know what I mean,

if you know what I mean

and if you do,

I’m sorry

it was on such a day

they found him hanging.

a nylon rope attached to a ceiling stud

of his studio apartment

at his dangling feet,

was a note of pen ink written

on the back of hardware store receipt,

“They won’t stand trial for killing your spirit.”

humans write their most potent poetry,

and paint in the best of colors,

and sing with the most emotion,

when in times of gut-wrenching despair

to live like that is unbearable

it's true

but all the best of artists do,

until they don't

and so I slipped these words in my pocket

to pawn off as my own

incapable of thinking them myself

when my head is either too silent

or too filled with static

to write all that in so few words