the bones in my hand rattle as I stir the coffee that has become luke warm
she’s probably getting dressed after a night at that weasels house
it’s been a long time
the nicotine running through my blood wasn’t enough
to stop the cold windy mist slapping me in the face as I sit outside a breakfast cafe at 1:45 in the afternoon
is this what adults are supposed to do?
is this what life becomes after a series of unfortunate events?
cumbersome hearts ready to say hello for what may be the last time
Reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and to do your homework in the dark.