Writing

Kathy watched out her window as Samuel left his apartment, 

spit his gum on the ground

and lit his cigarette. 

the same as yesterday. 

the same as every day. 

The snow of yesterday lingers in my mind,

and the heat of today bites at my body.

Exhaustion writhes through every atom in my being, and sleep seems to be the only thing I know how to do.

There is a man on the corner of 87th and Amsterdam. I do not know him, and he does not know me. He wears a red T-shirt with red sweatpants. He wears a red coat with red shoes. He wears a red ski mask on his face.

Were you put here only to provide contrast?

Your gruesome body zooming in and out of my vision gives something to compare to the flower.

I have never been a poet,

But for you I will try.

Flames fiercely floating

Flames dancing in the dark

Flickering fleeting 

Wood whispers, crackles in pain

Feeding its fiery power