Immature Lover Skips Town

What I did this time was a mystery.
She’d strung my clothes on the muddy front lawn.
My shoes had bleach stains.
Thick, black smoke billowed from the windows of the home we built.
She used fingernail polish and breathed jealousy to ignite the dry wood.
Growing pains formed in my lungs.
Not even counseling sessions lightened the blow of her leaving me for good this time.
A September breeze whips through my coat, reminding me my bed is cold,
and I’m alone with no one to hold my hand
and complicated when the sun sinks below the deep well of a day I’d rather have slept off.
I fell asleep at the wheel, ruminating through this headwind. I learned a lesson; it’s true. I’m better off without you.

(© 2022 AC)

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