Bravo

July 17, 2017

The morning strikes like lightning.

I rub sleep from tired eyes,

look to the left side of the bed.

No blood, but a body.

Odd.

 

I look at smeared makeup in a broken mirror.

Face washed, but nothing will ever remove the regret.

Bags packed quickly and quietly.

The door closes behind me.

I try to forget.

 

The car I drive, out of gas.

The body I inhabit, out of energy.

The mind that controls me, out of ideas.

Music plays softly.

I give up.

 

The morning strikes like lightning.

I rub sleep from tired eyes,

look to the left side of the bed.

Blood.

White walls close in.

I take a final bow.






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