The Suicides Widow, Poetry and Rants

Our songs, like you, haunt me.

Were you real, or a figment of my imagination?

What chance do I have at happiness

you’re not even here

to make love to me till  morning.

I was holed up with you for a year

in a nest of love with no escape.

I ran from you again and again

And you’d find me no matter how well I’d hide.

It was a cruel game but we played it well

No one could chase me quite like you baby

No one could fuck me and make me want to stay like you knew how to do

I stopped running and you put a ring on my finger

You kissed my nose the last time I seen you, behind the door where your mother couldnt see

They came to the prison and told me years ago you died

Yet you’re behind me all night long

Sometimes I feel your tongue on my lips, your breath on the back of my neck

But not often enough

Death is not nearly close enough

To return to me the 80’s

The sounds we made

The sights we seen

The touch we branded

Now left incomplete


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