He stood at the gates
with a shot glass in his hand
and the tears of his wife
falling from his hands
and he left everything he had
at home
with coughing
in his lungs
cholrine
and bleach
and the scent of hospitals
and death
and desire
and he can't fight it
he can't fight anymore
her faceless lies and her weak
eyes
beating at her lungs
and he
leaves
it all behind
pushing through the gates
to find
something to live for.