He Wanted to See His Wife...

There is a frightening story told;

About me, the dead, the far past old.

Bask in the dark of my yesteryears,

And soon you’ll discover your newest fears…

Mathew B. Honeypot was his name

And upon my death, there came his pain

 He was the one who shot me dead

A golden bullet blown through my head

This sinful person, I forgave

For he’s the one that built my grave

A noble psychotic, a child at heart

We couldn’t stand to be apart

He walked through his town in a tired daze

To him, the citizens shifted their gaze

A dead man walking, a kin to sorrow

Yesterday, today, always, and tomorrow.

“Mathew, my friend! We heard ‘bout yer wife!”

The rumor, he’d heard. Matt’d taken her life.

In hope to lighten Mathew’s sin,

The townsman gave a tired grin

With a devilish cry,

Came Mathew’s  reply.

“I am going to see my wife.”

“But Matty, my boy, she’s already gone!

To the ole afterlife, the white beyond!”

Mathew pulled himself to a greater height

Which seemed to scare away the light

With a devilish cry,

Came Mathew’s reply.

“I am going to see my wife.”

And down the street, he skipped in folly

You’d  never seen a man so jolly.

The townspeople stared in wonder, dismay

What had happened, on this smoldering day?

Had the heat taken over his good-sensed thoughts?

About me, his dear wife, had he nearly forgot?

A murderer he stood, but the people were scared.

About what he would do, if they even dared.

With a clamber he barged to my old workplace

A stuffy, dark, and spider-ous place.

Shelly Martin looked up from her tedious task

She knew who he was, there was no need to ask.

Very sore she was indeed.

For my gruesome husband’s greed.

I was, of course, her best friend

And this was the one who brought me to my end.

She spat an unintelligible thought

Muttered about this man’s onslaught. 

With not even such as an ungrateful greeting,

My husband proceeded the sinister meeting

With a devilish sigh,

There came his reply.

“I have come to see my wife.”

“She is dead! She is dead! Why can’t you see?

She’s deader than dead could possibly be!

You wander about, in a dastardly plea;

‘Where is she at? Where could she be?’

You know darn well where her soul is now!

She’s God-knows-where, perhaps up in the clouds!

You brought her future out of her hands

The most righteous person in all of the lands.”

With a flame in his eye,

There came his reply.

“I am going to see my wife.”

Down the shopkeeper’s steps did he go

Ignoring the sparkling and slippery snow

Down lanes and ‘round bends brought his aching feet

His heart pumped faster, skipping some beats.

The house we’d once shared came into his view

And the memories we’d had, both old and new

The door was ajar and the inside was waiting

He spent a half second in thought debating.

What wait for him beyond the large wooden door?

Was something forgotten? Something ignored?

“My wife is inside, waiting for me!”

He reassured himself, an untruthful plea.

With not but a cry,

Came his silent reply;

He was going to see his wife.

Through the door the murderer flew

Sending my furniture about and askew

Knocking down tables, couches and chairs

Sobbing, was he, husband in despair

And there he remained, searching the house.

Finding not me, but a single brown mouse.

His face was flushed and his eyes ablaze

On the shattered remains, he directed his gaze.

On the floor was his weapon to kill.

The thing that made him so much more ill.

It came to his staggeringly grim realization

He pieced together the harsh equation

Murderer, he, a slave to emotion

His rage brought upon me, a relentless ocean.

A tear raced down his maddened face

He looked about the cluttered place.

With a banging reply,

The gun gave a cry.

For he wanted to see his wife