Event Horizon

I haven't asked her to marry me. I don't believe
That she would. I go on like a poltergeist,
Haunting her doorway. She fixes me dinner,
Then turns me away to trudge homeward
Deliberately, speaking in tongues to myself
As I fumble for my front-door keys, clearly
Someone whose life is of negative consequence.
Parasite, eager consumer of ethanol, wishing
She'd love me, knowing she can't, I pass out
On my mattress so soon as I'm home, and float
Blissfully, as drunkards typically do, past
The sorrow of knowing she won't be my wife
Into something, a coma, a crypt, nonexistence,
Akin to a tiny black hole.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 30 times
Written on 2021-08-24 at 02:33

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