enough is enough she seems like she wants out, this blackhole space engulfed her in from her other blackhole. most at recent, when at times we are together for coffee, she constantly sips and stirs sips and stirs her coffee, as she sits and stares out the window. she wont say anything about it it just comes out in other ways. the children have both shot each other dead, sprung a bow and arrow into the other’s back in the playroom, as they go playing cowboys and indians. these two children are my life, and a cursed burden to hers. i think she thinks, should she have it her way it would be easier to go back to the vintage drinking, those loose nights bar hopping short cut-off shorts, skirts riding high above her thighs and dancing till two am, raven men sleeping the morning away and worshiping the thing that slips between night and day. choking in the elusive snuff to make sense of the fence balanced between suicide and realism. this is the life she buried. we had sex a year ago, and now i realize what keeps her here, with knees deep in security, the front door that swings dreadfulness. i think one day when i come home, she will be gone-- the television on to dr. phil: her confidence up, cocked and head-filled. the children left behind as white sheets on a clothesline desperate in the wind.