I wake up; drink a large cup of heartburn.
I scrape last night’s suicides from my teeth.
I put on my black fedora and turn
Out the door, wearing it like the night’s sheath.
I only wear it when I’m abhorred,
(Like there’s some other emotional way) .
I step onto the sidewalk of hatred
And head into... just another cold day.
I walk not under, but around the lights
As I head down the street to meet my fate.
I see her and I know; it feels so right.
I decide to stop—after it’s too late.
By the time the Sun rises I’ve been thrilled.
My heart is pounding, but my hands are cramped.
I never feel regret—for those I’ve killed—
They should have lived... closer to a street lamp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem