I hate you.
Where are you at?
I sit here waiting for any crumbs of love to fall from your table.
The air is cool against my feverish skin.
You aren’t coming back are you?
Suddenly, I feel very cold.
This solitude is so complete.
I have depleted all my food stocks.
The molded cheese you left looks good.
Maybe I’ll die from a rare fungus.
Maybe I’ll just die.
See, Love, I’ll take
Maybe it was 15 more.
There you sit with hair askew, beard way past 5.
You’re wearing our pain again.
You ask, “How long can we continue this? ”
I smile sardonically.
“I have 2 more refills on my pills.”