the words of the psycho janitor from the fourth floor
c. c. russel
³My brother took a
.357 magnum,
hollow-point rounds,
to his head last week.
He lived
for eight hours
afterwards,
just long enough
for me
to say goodbye.²
He shrugs
and gies back
to sweeping.
Sometimes he spits
out the window
just to watch it fall.