Barbiturate

Monday morning, everything begins anew. We keep thinking this is the state of emergency, but hasn't it turned into a new normal? You cannot sit around on your couch staring into the fire when it has spread to a bed of hot coals you're required to live on. Even drunk you diligently wash your hands for 20 seconds, even in despair you put on clothes and attempt to pay your bills.

I'm trying to figure out what to do with my life, I tell him over long distance cocktails, when Queens is no longer on a map I can cover. Haven't you been saying that for ages? he retorts and I don't know how to tell him that life is a scavenger hunt we never quite complete. The dog nestles into the crumpled duvet on my bed and I cannot move in case it scare her away, it's a metaphor I no longer care for. I've terrified weak hearts for decades, let them walk over the coals for once, I'll be here. The city is emptying out of the faint of heart, of those who lived here with one foot always out the door, let them go. I'm doubling down on you, New York. From now on, it's all or nothing.

I know so little. But what I do know, has burned and blistered so many times along my skin that it is impervious to any more fire.

What I do know,
New York,
is ready to set fire to the sea.