hot chocolate and st. john's wort
there's a woman looking out her window, she's playing with her zipper searching for the trigger and thinking about the afterlife - her husband is in the kitchen, he's got the face of a secretary from his work on his mind and he's wondering about the way she loves to tease his sex drive and whether or not he's the cheating kind - he's drinking a gourmet coffee that he bought at starbucks, where behind the counter a beautiful chestnut-eyed boy is suggestively selling everything in the store plus a dream he has of running his fingers down this stranger's spine while looking into his eyes and saying 'from the first time i saw you i knew that you'd be mine' - but that was yesterday morning, last night, that kid committed suicide - the note he left simply read ' don't worry you'll get over it' and he was right, everyone did, especially the cop who found him and saw him as nothing more than additional paperwork in triplicate - but years later while on a fishing trip, that same cop would hook his finger and as he watched the crimson drip he'd think about when he and his sister were kids and how she loved to poke him with pins and how later, ironically, she took her life at the end of a syringe - and then he'd remember the starbucks kid and wonder - what is this happiness?
