She left him.

Over his fifth drink,

he wondered why.

He gave her money, freedom

and never laid a hand on her.

Yet the bitch left,



he never wiped her tears,

or held her close

when she was drowning in her fears,

or because he ridiculed her

for always using her heart over her head.

Was that so bad, he thought,

as he poured himself yet another drink.

She did not deserve

a good husband like him.

Every night he ponders

over what she lacked,

drink after endless drink,

glancing at his blurry watch,

second after endless second,

slurring I love you’s

that he never said then,

but she never did come back.

In the gaping silence,

time stood forever still.

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