Plunge

The last meal I ate was back in March
those four months past
the day before you threw your bombs
with such immaculate precision
and I’ve dropped some weight and become
a little malnourished. But I have no
appetite for food or sustenance
I cannot recall when I stopped cleaning
the house or caring for what was once
the place you came to be with me
but the time must be similar
as the debris and dog hair and detritus
build around me in drifts and piles
and I care less with each passing day
Where once you might have been shocked
you would now surely relish my decline
my physical and mental faculties in freefall
without parachute or landing zone
to the razor rocks you placed below
and as it makes no matter to you
nor does it to me nor any other

5 thoughts on “Plunge

      1. Oh I get your intent 🙂 I’m struggling to find something that doesn’t express pain. I used to write beautiful love poetry (believe it or not). But those days appear to be behind me

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      2. I can certainly believe you that you used to write love poetry. Your descriptive style would lend itself to such beautiful works. 🙂 And it’s okay to have those days behind you, perhaps now is the time you’re healing yourself through your words, addressing your sorrow and pain, and hurt.

        Liked by 1 person

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