“Don’t Forget the Ladies”
She’s the silent villain falling into a slumber beside him in bed.
Wife.
Wife.
My wife is dead.
Where has she gone? Dense, cold bones are scraping my side.
Ice pick.
Ice pick.
My wife, with her ice pick, my dead, beautiful bride.
Her breath is timed to the ticking of the clock.
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock –
Beneath her heavy head of moss, murky water, muddled thoughts, ticking clocks
Sickened by the sterile scent of midnight –
Time is constant, my wife, eternally buried beneath rock.
I feel unnatural, impure, sullied – my legs propelling me forward – in the light of day!
I’m ashamed,
So ashamed,
I fall astray.
She breathes deeper and I begin to suffocate.
