Friday, May 16, 2008

A Fly On The Wall

I feel the fire in the air

The fury and the fight

I smell the demon on his tounge

It lubricates the item, for which he’s bought and paid

I feel the caution in the company of the other; it’s obvious in his touch

In the alcoholic haze his reasoning has been withered

But even in inebriation he remembers what she did.

He remembers the hurt he felt

He remembers how after 12 years he found out; he fell in love with a whore.

He revels in the memory of the whore’s fist pounding at the door

He’s aggrieved as he bethinks the splashing of his tears on the cold cherry wood floor

In this moment the hurt he feels can only be mend by the touch of a stranger

Or so he thinks

As he begins to use what he’s bought, he feels his eyes begin to water

He knows this isn’t revenge, he knows this isn’t right

He pulls put

500 dollars walks out

And there he is on the floor, feeling discarded and used

Realizing sanity has slipped his grasp

Thinking of how the whore lay snug, and smug in bed.

The sweat from his pores pours cold

Erasing dreams of the two growing old

He listens to the lies the walls speak

The passion the sheets sing

The promises his heart wrote with his lips in front of 97 witnesses

It seems irrelevant as he watches the fire rise up the walls

The smoke fills his lungs and the fire loosed his soul

The whore watches as her last chance goes up in smoke

Knowing redemption has slipped from her grasp

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