Every night
I die of depression and loneliness
and wonder what I’m hanging on to.

Little scraps
little moments
while you try
to figure yourself out.

I can’t,
I cannot keep doing this.

At the cafe
I had one beer
then two
and thought the walk would help.
I listened to music on the way
and there I
felt temporarily relieved.

I smelled pizza,
Which was tempting so late at night,
but alas I only had
six dollars to my name,
and the drinks are calling me.

I managed to only spend four,
and the beggar outside got the rest.
I didn’t even care if he was scamming me.
“Better days are ahead tomorrow, Kenneth.”
and he nodded in agreement.

Thankfully I grew up poor,
so I walked home and thought of you,
scooped up some flour,
bloomed what little yeast I had left
and made enough dough
to make a pizza tonight.
I will find my pleasure somewhere,
if not in your arms
then in my kitchen,
the kitchen we once shared and prepared
our meals in.