The guy who wants too be me
Sets his unfinished drink
On the nightstand.
My house is in view of his window.
Snow covers the trees
But melts on the sidewalk.
He strips off his clothes
And climbs into bed
With wool socks on.
My porch light suggests
That my story
Will end with a moral.
His glass is now empty.
The lamp by his bed
Is no longer on.
I read to grow sleepy.
I am thirsty
And frozen in fear.
