My eyes open and I see a low yellow light
Vaguely illuminating an empty parking structure.
My chest is cradled by a cool, gravelly, black asphalt.
A dull, tired pain throbs in my head.
I try to get up, but my muscles don’t work.
I loll my head from side to side, and do not see my car.
My mouth is dry and salty. Oh, to lay down my head,
And rest. How nice that would be.
But I should call her, to let her know I am alright.
Am I? I fumble in my ripped pants pockets,
Feeling for my phone. It is not there.
Wait, my chest pocket is poking me. My phone is there.
My eyes drift unfocused at its screen. She is there.
I push my finger on her picture. The phone calls her.
I tell her I have been carjacked (have I?).
She says she will come pick me up.
My face is wet, dripping. I am so tired.
My head aches, my mouth is dry. Hungover, I curl my
Left arm to my face, and lay them down, on the asphalt.
Blood runs from my nose and mouth, and pools
On the ground around the crook of my elbow.
I am comfortable; I have laid down my burdens.
I watch the blood drip from my face, peacefully,
And disinterestedly contemplate my fate.
Why am I unafraid? The blood continues to run.
My suit jacket is caked in it. Ruined.
Oh, to close my eyes and drift away. But,
Instead, She finds me, lying in a pool
of my own blood, just around the corner from my car,
Broken, tired, aching, alive.