He doesn’t bother to brush it off.
Lets the hair stand up in the strands it woke in.
Considers the long sleeve option,
but stops and doesn’t bother.
Who’s watching out for tally marks, anyways?
An echo to rise to from his belly
in the wake of a reflection’s approval.
Tried the store on the way out
and was too sick to feel sick,
but that’s just par for the course nowadays.
He’s got his eyes locked on balconies.
Spends the minutes crossing off names.
Thinks about “not tonight,”
but he knows he’ll attack what’s left of him.
It’s the most of what he’s worth, he says.
Silent alarm to blare in his mind.
The warnings are clearly prescribed.
But a severed branch falling;
do the others take notice?
He’s not thinking so;
so he goes.
( ❤ Mitch)