One Week Poem by Barely There

Sunday:
I hate you.

Monday:
I’m sorry.
Bye.

Tuesday:
Where are you at?
I sit here waiting for any crumbs of love to fall from your table.
The air is cool against my feverish skin.
You aren’t coming back are you?
Suddenly, I feel very cold.

Wednesday:
This solitude is so complete.
I have depleted all my food stocks.
The molded cheese you left looks good.
Maybe I’ll die from a rare fungus.

Thursday:
Maybe I’ll just die.

Friday:
1 pill
2 pills
3 pills
4
See, Love, I’ll take
5 more.

Saturday:
Maybe it was 15 more.
There you sit with hair askew, beard way past 5.
You’re wearing our pain again.
You ask, “How long can we continue this? ”
I smile sardonically.
“I have 2 more refills on my pills.”