I'm on my third Xanax,
and I can't breathe.
Not knowing that he
is going to die soon.
He won't have food or water
or medications, and already
sounds like he's getting pneumonia.
He's picked out the bridge
he's going to live under,
he told me tonight.
He's looking on this as
his life's big adventure.
Nobody will hire him now,
not as a homeless man.
He will get cold and hungry
and wet during rainstorms
like we had tonight.
He said the winter will be cold.
He is not being realistic,
and he doesn't care if he dies.
I have to talk to someone.
I can't breathe knowing
that soon he won't be either.
Angels, watch over him.
He doesn't know what he's doing.
It won't be an adventure.
He's not sane right now.
Please, God, make his brain
start working right again
before it's too late.
Somebody, help me deal with this.
It just doesn't make any sense.
