I'm writing this
on the back of
a bank statement

it's from our joint account
and, circumstances without,
I smile slightly at the thought
that I was ever close enough to
someone to share names on
an envelope

the money doesn't matter,
we are none without our vices,
little human weaknesses
that creep through and climb
the tallest if walls

I drew out note every morning
from the ATM on the corner,
to buy cigarettes and chocolate

often, I'd ingest them together
like a double dose of Aspirin,
a double shot of whiskey

slightly reckless but
essentially harmless

The smoke would coat
my throat, the sugar
settling like a layer
of film

I know, it sounds disgusting
so, shall we talk about you?

I'm almost disappointed
by the banality of it all
fake names, hotel rooms
and guilty ***

I'd known about those pitfalls
since childhood but I still
married you thinking you were
different, original

If you had to leave I wanted
a storm. That you would
fling a fist towards the sky
and declared your hatred of me
your boredom, your lack of love
for me

and I'd spill my own guts,
violently, coughing up my
own bile for you

but no

I'm running out of space
now, and I'm scrawling ink
over our branch name
and sort code. The paper
constricting, closing,
pressing me for an
ending