The morning garbage trucks wake us up.
In the alleys.
Under highway bridges.
Sunrise joggers are careful not to step on us.
First thoughts wishing we still had something from the night before.
Cans and bottles empty.
Tin foils scraped.
Maybe there’s a rock on the ground.
Needles have drawn our souls dry.
People going to work.
Kids going to school.
The sky is clear and blue.
Birds flaunt their morning joy.
We’ve decided this is the last time.
This is our last day.
We all begin to drift to the outskirts of town.
We walk up the hill towards blank sky.
Ignoring the voices that beg us to come back.
When we get to the top we fall over the edge
and sink in our black ocean.
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