Obituary

That day I slammed my fist
into the sheetrock, sliding to the floor
with tears etching my cheeks, is over.

�Why?!�s have been translated into �of course�s.

The doorknob mocks me for I have
no right to enter, no gasps for breath
and red eyes that had once gained admittance.

Only rust adorns my face now.

Faces blur from tan to yellow�
While searching for an exit,
green smears along the side of the interstate.

Were those trees I just passed?