Spiraling out of control. Deceiving those around me. Becoming what I hate. Pouring my heart out into an empty glass that now looks only half full. Where did the rest go? I possibly got thirsty and drank some, then offered my heart to some poor fool on the street. Knowing they didn’t deserve it, I gave it anyway. I now sit looking at my half-empty glass and wonder how I’m alive when my soul is on the table. It sits and looks at me in disbelief. It didn’t think I had the strength to extract it from my body. Feeling like I’ve won the battle, I realize the war has just begun. My soul sits and smiles, as it sees the changing in my eyes. It mocks my defeated mouth and laughs outrageously at me. It knows the path but will not tell me the secret. How do I get my heart back? Obviously, when I drank it, nothing happened. It didn’t even quench my thirst. I move, ever so slowly; it watches me. Contentedly, with my plan I try and love again, but the full glass sits at home and waits. I return unlucky. It still sits on the table thinking

Sad Man, by Rob Nakai

to itself, “she gave up sooner than I thought.” It is nothing, as nothing is to everything. The glass is half empty in a world that is so full. Bury it; yes, give it a nice headstone that reads “Rest in Peace.” No, wrong word: “Pieces,” yes, that’s it.

Down a twisted path. If there’s a light, I can’t see it, just a flash every once in a while. I breathe deeply now, trying to calm myself, realizing I am all I have left. I stop for a moment, look around. I’m surrounded by mirrors, each one showing a different side to my emotions. All of my split personalities in one room. They don’t seem to like each other; their eyes all squint and roll. I begin to wonder if this is why I poured it out in the first place. It wanted to leave. I had just too much pride to let it leave on its own. It had to trick me into thinking it belonged in that yellow-flower chipped glass on the table. It smirks at me and the rest of them. I see in one reflection the glass is still full. I go to grab the glass, but hit the wall instead. I knew it couldn’t be that easy; it never is. Contorting my mind to figure a way to get my heart back, my final solution is to sit and watch it. Nothing happens. Maybe it will miss me or want me. I’ll wait for you, my dear love, forever, my soul.

Chrystal Axtell, 2003