I was, “then,” – when you found your voice.
I was, “there” – By trip come broken lace.
So it’s “there,” where bravado’d gallant, and
“There,” where time flipped tricks, and theatre
Prior regret. Previous want and wary brow,
More importantly, ‘fore we’d ever remember.

Perhaps and only precursory,
The single bead of sweat, making way,
Later tear, and forever’d a tale,
From forehead unto sacred navel.
So the story goes, blasphemous and becoming,
After us, after, “one” and later, returning to,
“One,” again, this singularity of sorts.

I’d wallow, “after,” wherein we succumbed,
So much like the rest of the world –
Under, “soil,” under spotlight, under scrutiny;
Somehow ill from our mutual ******,
But even more so, the anesthetic consumed
Hours early and promise come one walk home.

More importantly, though, I am, “now,” stuck,
Stalled, dripped with fear, downing one beer,
After another beer, after another, after another,
And in reconciliation ‘for your maintained halo.
I’d wanted away, achieved a block, fell short,
Yet still, I somehow remain, a first – committed,
Whilst you dreamt that I’d never look back.

Do you know what it means to butcher?
To assault, to inflict,
To incite, to enflame?
To maraud in entirety?
To usher the kind of, “****,”
And with one word, maybe two,
Wherein even butterflies bleed
Amnesia –

And so,

She's ill and wrought under cover,
In between legs,
Pushing,
Pulling,
Throbbing,
Coming,
Crying,
Wanting, and crying again.

Tears atop whimpering the,
“Other’s,” name,
But screaming for
One, the only, “one,”
The lonely, “one,”
Solely one,
Done, and the one broken
Promise – I’d never come home?

And so,

I should have been jealous,
But I wasn’t.
I should have murdered,
But I couldn’t.
In their stead,
I silently tucked that knife
A little deeper
Mumbling, “sorry,”
For the first time in years
And making good on fear –
“Good bye,” and ensuing long walk away.

She held a red rose
Atop her breast,
Skin and path towards
Motherhood; desires,
Nearly hidden,
But a tempt, attempt,
Shrouded in satin.

Contrary to nature,
I left and let be,
The rose,
But not so subtle skin
So that she could dream
And dream for the both of,
“Us.”

As I’m tired,
So very tired,
Ever present atop an
Even all-knowing that –
There’ll come a time when
My wings tire
And this flight may cease.

She’ll either hold me
Or walk away
And so I wait;
Betting once more on empty,
Once more on, “away,”
And yet another
Suicide without ever dying.

My head’s drenched,
I lack an umbrella.
My clothes are soaked,
I lack a jacket.
My chin’s to the puddles,
So my brow drags the oil
And I’d crack if I had to smile,
If I had to say, “thank you,”
Just one more time
Under rain, under shame, and the
Laughing gods above.

With a sliver of scorn,
I do muster one more
“Thank you,”
As I’ve got my pay;
Cashed my last inch of dignity
And quickly lost
When I do the math and see
That I’d spent more on gas
As opposed to what I line my
Pockets with –
Lint and little more.

With a dwindling fuel,
Both in belly and beast,
I leave for the ends of existence
Knowing full well,
I’d return, I’d come home,
And when I can’t have food
I steal this simple moment,
A special kind of sustenance wherein –
I don’t want to see my wife,
My brother, or my mother.
I don’t want to see anyone or anymore.