My poor life. What is it doing here with me, what am I doing with it?
My poor life swims in and out, looking for coral or a few good waves.
I sit in a room and it's like failing to light the same match over and over.
I sit next to my life, both of us too afraid to sing in front of each other.
I go to the piano, plink-plink. "Like rain..."
My poor life nods, for my sake. I pick up a cup one of us left on the windowsill, staring out.
I drink what's left. My life looks around the room.
We are waiting for the other to leave so we can feel free to weep a little.
There is nothing but silence between us and maybe a couple birds.
My poor life reaches out to me at all the wrong times, and I do the same to it.
It's getting dark. I walk toward the kitchen, turn on the light and glance back.
My poor life.
Somehow I have failed it again.
submitted at 2:20am
15 January 2012
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