Striking keys a more tenuous task than
my fingers are used to seeing

uncommon to everyday demands, all dark
having to hear my mind, touch, wait, and

clean up after reckless laps across
the broad choice of black, flat keys

it was a migraine they said, nothing
unusual but worth observation

Outside people ignored the ashtray
and spoke words encased in smoke

about what they think they should have
said to the doctor who knows nothing

spending his life misleading the hopeless
and stealing our nights for themselves

because they are not like us they say,
if these pricks only knew how long we

have waited, perhaps they would do something,
to make our time and wounds right

I reminded them that these are people, trying
to fix people and easing the minds

all of the most important souls in the world
is not that easy to do

They blew me off so I went back inside
stayed up all night just being there, there

for her....