i\'ve been crying so i look at the tissue with a wrinkled nose. like instead of dampness
there\'s blood or shit
or snot
or something else to turn my nose up to.
but there isn\'t.
the old dog still waits at the foot of your bed.
tail thumping, waiting for you to come home.
me and that dog both.
that dog thinks it\'s morning because i took him outside.
it\'s almost like you died again every time i pass the hospital.
sterile smell.
everyone has moved on but my bones are buried there.
in that house.
i stand in the windows using the fog of my breath to write out SOS.
people sometimes stand in the center of this house, hands in pocket looking around and admiring things.
but they never stay long.
and they always leave with something when they go.
soon it will be down to brass tacks,
and the enormous chip on my shoulder.