stock options

A Poem by winter;lyra

been waiting for
the headman's axe
but it never falls
it only
calls
911 i miss her touch
i guess, just a kind of dust
left off on my shirt

fading
been waiting
been waiting

rating my stock options
with grim eyes
tired shoulders
steep grounding
distracted aim
how will my gun ever fire?

see
i miss her face
her smile
her hair
her hands
her lip
her hips, does she miss me too?
is she here, too?
sleep tight
i might fade
or pretend to fade
if it says
"she might be happy"
i might be happy