Whispers.

This is a poem I started two Sundays ago after a little breakdown. It's a little pessimistic itself; I don't normally feel so low about Joey being a cop, but sometimes I do.

Whispers
A year, almost.
An empty beside, sheets cold as snow on my skin,
and a bulletin to sit by at church.
Learn to be alone, I hear whispers from somewhere.
A Glock 23, lying
dark and heavy in my pajama drawer like a stranger,
who I don't trust completely.
Day after day, invading my home with reality.
Heavy black boots,
a creased uniform and a hard vest underneath demanding
obedience given by the power of a silver star.
Shortness and anger,
trustlessness and pessimism
invading my home with aftershocks of his battle,
night after night.
Learn to be alone, I hear whispers from somewhere.