I put myself to sleep.
Tomorrow will be taken.
By tattoos.
And confusion.
When will she call?
Why will I die?
What does it all mean?
Can I conquer my fears?
After the radio call.
Before the emails.
Each event.
May or may not be an exclamation point.
It's okay to be sad.
I wish someone told me that.
A long, lone time ago.
Maybe by now I'd have it wrapped up.
An idea versus a wish.
Comedy versus poetry.
Surprise the universe.
I tell myself to ask just that.