Cityscapes

I look at the hospital and think of my friend leaving me there, in the same emergency room they drove me to after I left an empty wine bottle and an empty pill bottle in the alley behind the theatre.

I look at the building where they told me You are not a functioning member of society.

You are a terrible actor.

The only role you are fit for is town crier.

My tears tear my cheeks to shreds.

Passersby peel pieces from my face and read the sad, secret messages.

They throw coins into my hat, but they are only props made of tin foil.

When it rains my audience shrinks, but I still cry under the giant umbrella.

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