The Bank Loan

this fucking heat won’t quit, sweat pooling in every crease of this rotten carcass, another nightmare—third one this week—crawling out of the sheets like a rat with its throat cut.

I can’t even remember what the dream was, I just remember that high-pitched whine in my skull when I snapped awake, nothing else breaking the silence. not the tap dripping its slow suicide in the sink, not my gut growling for something that ain’t coming, not even Nigel’s milk truck rattling down the street like it gives a damn.

dead quiet.

thought maybe I finally croaked in the night,
slipped off cheap and easy.

then I see the tree shadows jittering on the wall like drunks trying to dance, and I drag my dry paw across my face—scratchy stubble rasping loud enough to prove I’m still breathing, still stuck in this meat. neck cracks like a broke bottle when I turn to look at the clock. been curled up foetal, pillowcase carved into my cheek like a map of every bad decision I ever made.

slept hard,
like a corpse that forgot to die.

then it hits me again—

the same nightmare, money gone, rent laughing in my face, the old black hole opening under the bed. all that beautiful despair my brain saves up special, just for me, every goddamn night, the godforsaken bank loan.

stress wears me down thin,
doubt whispers how long I’ll last—
check the policy.