Poem #3

I miss her. That's why I write. I wouldn't be writing if I wasn't missing her. I don't know why but my hand won't sit still, like a coked out Richard Simmons without the spandex. At the same time I feel like I'm losing my mind. I think I understand why people like stuffed animals. For 18 years I've wondered, and now I know. I want a beer and a gigantic stuffed bear. As far as I'm concerned, right now, I want nothing other than that and one other thing, but I'll be fine with a Corona and a huge furry friend. I think I have some beer downstairs...