Coffee stains, wine and broken glass,
Ash writhing around on the white sheets like maggots,
Duvet rolled back, abandoned without a care,
Heavy as clay, oozing like stinking French brie,
The marital bed. She’s somewhere in the house,
Face picked at and peeled, decomposing like a leper.
Like her grubby clothes, hanging off her shapeless body,
Breasts sunken and sagging, bones jutting out,
The walking cadaver. She’s somewhere
Buzzing around like a fly you’re longing to swat.
Rummaging through my drawers, fingering my stuff,
Loitering around with that vacuous stare,
She’s there when I leave for school, there
When I get back – The fridge is empty.
She doesn’t eat, she smokes. No tea time
Or dinner time. The hands on the clock
Stand still. He’s moved on. Why won’t she?
Wife. Kids. Dog. Who’d have known he had a son?
It was her fault. Her idea. He apparently wasn’t enough,
Couldn’t satisfy her, and now
She writes him emails, begging him to come back,
Threatening to take her life. She leaves them
On the screen for me to read at my leisure.
And I, up, up in my room, cut her out.
Anyway I can. White powder up the nose. Jabs in the arm,
The whole world comes undone. The prison walls
Begin to mutate into something beautiful, for my eyes only,
Away from that pathetic wretch – everything goes blank. Serenely,
I am plunged headfirst into the rabbit hole.
Flicker of a smile on my lips, cheery wave, then I’m gone.
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etcetera.online
