It’s Hard to Live

It’s Hard to Live

When I look back and see

the mental damage one can

inflict on someone else, some-

one they really care about, it’s

hard to smile sheepishly in the

mirror. Every gesture is a fraud,

every lie becomes laced with cyanide.

I’ve become a one-man wrecking machine.

I’m ready to end it. The chair is

planted firmly on the floor, the

car is running, the rope draped

gently over the loveseat. Iggy Pop’s

“The Idiot” is playing, the gun is

in the greenhouse, I’ve swallowed

a handful of uppers/downers/sleeping

pills/Advil/Flintstone chewables, and

the water is overflowing in the bathtub

while the razor gleams ever so brightly.

This is not a cry for help.

It’s a cry for immortality.