You Were the Death of Me

What became of us,
remember when we didn’t have to rush,
just love endlessly and erratically like the wind?

What caught your eye in this new accomplished sin?
Was it a new sense of pride, getting away with it or letting your own insanity in?
A premeditated fantasy, a new adventure you bragged about in secrecy.

Little did she know
the ending would be the death
of her,
her understanding,
the person she identified as me;
her own imagination couldn’t comprehend the inconsistencies.

Always out and about
you promised,
you were going out with friends to have a drink.

What was she supposed to think?
Question the trust that has linked them for centuries,
or quiet the anxiety that screams, notice me!

You barely even tried to hide your random restaurant receipts
Dating and transacting the places we didn’t meet.

She goes about her normal routine,
While her thoughts fight to overpower
the ticking metronome
scratching at the crevices of her brain
asking, where is he, really?

Focusing is an endless,
erratic chase with her imagination
creating, the kiss, the hug, the intertwined naked legs.
In our bed, a hotel, where?

A day has passed with nothing done.
In the kitchen, she stands with a bottle of wine
leaning over the counter with a crazed look in her eyes.
The doorbell rings as she lifts from the counter,
revealing new found evidence of a letter.
Red wine splotches stain the page with creases worn.

The lock on the door clicks its entrance
revealing him in the doorway, flowers and presents.
BANG! escapes the gun barrel as she soaks in his image.
Petals, boxes go flying, with him and cement colliding.
She drags him in, door and hinge fracture.
in his last breaths he leaves her
with a blood-soaked jacket,
perfumed drenched collar
with ruby red lipstick on the corner to match it.




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the way our lives are reflected and seen


Break the silence. End the violence.

Felie Fel's Pages

Don't be afraid, just turn the page.

Luke Atkins

Film, Music, and Television Critic

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