..

I did not write this.

I was born in 1957.  

Died in 2009.  

Since then I have been waiting anticipating yearning for my second death.  

A woman killed me.  

I ran fast and stumbled, fell hard, 

shattered spine and ribs and heart sauce leaked out onto the noodles of my spilled intestines.  

A drainage ditch, an overdose, alcohol, a razor blade.  

I woke up in my own bed the next day.  

Disappointed.  

Not knowing what to do.  

I showered the blood from my left arm and pulled myself into a suit.  I drove to work.  I taught children.  

I told them that life was worth living.  

That there was goodness in men & women.  

That they could turn the rudder of the world.  

They didn't smell the stink of my death.

Hours became days became weeks became months.  

Still no one knows that I am dead.

No one knows that I wait for my second death the way a small child waits for Christmas morning.

Please don't tell anyone.  

Let it be our little secret.

-Brothweef

-Brother Kay