i've pushed the television stand up against the porch french doors. left the front room lights on. as if the glowering pulsation of late night television might drive anyone. off. i'm perched in the bed with my baseball bat and two hard cold shots of vodka. no where close to sleep. to dream. shoulders hunched. jaw pressed hard. i think. this isn't something i can't take. alone. i realize from memory. this is something that i hope i wake up from. alone.

tonight. i really hope i don't fall to sleep.