The Silence

I dream about the moment my heart stops beating.
Will I notice? Will I feel the blood thicken and slow in my veins?
Or will it sneak up on me, until I can do nothing but welcome the silence.
I picture the gun in my mouth, the taste of sulfur on my tongue.
Can I do it? Will I do it? Night after night I’m here.
The sweat makes my finger slip on the trigger. That’s it. I won’t. Not tonight.

But her gun is a bottle. She’s the waking dead. The walking headache.
Eyes puffy, throat sore with a constant nasal drip. She’ll drink again tonight.

And I’ll dream. Wishing not to wake up, wondering where I’ll go.
What the silence is really like, and will I ever know?


I might submit this to the San Diego County Poetry Annual 2011-2012. We'll see.