Second Chances

Poetry is something I tend to not share often among my peers. The reason is because it tends to be rather morbid for their tastes. A couple co-workers love it though, so they often are the receivers of my rather ill-taste work. Since I do not see any of you on a regular basis, you can have a taste too.

I couldn’t begin to tell you why

The teardrops fell as I silently cry
Smeared across the polished stone
Is the reminder that I’m now alone
I wash my hands and change my clothes
I don’t want anyone else to know
What has happened here this very night
What remains of now is our last fight
Secured in a bag of black
I drag you over to the rickety shack
I watch the flames consume the bag
The shed soon starts to give and sag
When it finally falls in upon you
I know that this night is finally through
I pack the kids into the car
And I head off somewhere rather far
Where you don’t exist, you’re not my wife
We have a chance to start a new life.

-M. Hendrix

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