Watered-down coffee is

surprisingly tolerable.

50% coffee. 20% water.

30% fear.

Men with rifles

are everywhere I look.

Murder steps

outside my door.

The knob’s been touched

by too many hands.

In and out.

In and out.

The lock means nothing.

Watered-down coffee is

surprisingly tolerable.

10% coffee. 30% water. 60% fear.

I’ve written ninety-nine letters.

The hundredth

will be my last.

I know I’m going to die.

I know—I know—I know.

I’ve killed

just by watching

them die,

here in my home,

sipping

my watered-down coffee,

as they bled—

shadows pooling

behind their eyes.

When do we die, too?

The coffee’s gone.

All that’s left

is the bitter

taste in my mouth,

the brown stain

at the bottom

of the mug.

5% coffee.

5% water.

90% fear.