The Haiku Year

flat as a board. bright pink nipples jutting from her bird chest-'i always hated women like this'. his huge, hairy hands wrapped around her throat. and the other man, watching, maybe. it's too dark to tell. it wouldn't be the first murder he's witnessed. 'you stupid fucking whore! watch where you're scratching!' the slap across her face like a gun shot in the quiet room. she's on the floor, sobbing, barely able to breathe. 'we don't need this', says man in chair. he lights a cigarette. 'you may not need it. but i do.' she makes it half way to the door before he stops her.

sometimes i feel like
i'm watching myself from six
steps off. in darkness.

she won't ever fall in love. she won't ever spend another day in the park. she won't ever climb trees, spit from rooftops, fuck in a glass elevator. she won't pick up smoking, and finally quit years later. she won't get pissed with friends in a bar across the ocean. she won't get to tell her family that she loves them. she won't get to apologize.

want to kill yourself
every morning. forget
to, and sleep all day.

when it's all over, they won't even be able to identify the body