Living Without Me

The sun comes up and I head on home; The graveyard shift is done. I hang up my blue uniform and put away my gun. Some vodka in my orange juice; Sprinkle sleeping powder in the eggs. To help me sleep throughout the day, I pull down the black shades. My bed wasn’t always empty; The swing set once got some use; I say she didn’t like being a cops’ wife, but I know that’s just an excuse. Now I walk the streets throughout the night dealing with drunks and prostitutes; Trying to forget the mistakes I made; No longer a shine upon my boots. The sun comes up and I close my eyes, wondering just where they might be. I cry myself to sleep again, knowing they’re better off living without me.