Immature Lover Skips Town

Even from the street,
I beheld my clothes on the 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
I’d rather have slept
off below the deep well of a day.
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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