vicarious living

You. Are. Killing. Me.
she yelled.
she threw the mail in my face
thick hard envelopes
flew into my face like
a quick gust of wind
quick and harsh.
she said i was doing myself in.
that i was killing her.
my life was starting to have meaning
and she woke up
woke up and did not know who she had been
all these years.
she threw at me all the letters she meant to
but did not send.
about how her everything had collected
into an inconsiderable amount of nothing.
how she had to stay in one place
so i could have somewhere for my letters to collect.
but all i managed when i
picked up the mail she threw at
my face when she yelled
that my hands
were tight around her neck;
were bills and paper cuts.

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