Emptiness crawls the length of my spine,
spinning insecurity to knots.
The redlight exchanges a sly glance
for what's better left unsaid in a house full of dread.
A candle closes in for a winter wind,
taking her six feet beneath a calendar page.
A die casts an awkward summer-fall, beating to the drum to a fucking twist of a knife in the back.
A line that she crossed me off her list;
the wickedness burns within her ice-cold chest.
A whisper floats through this empty house.
I run down the stairs; there she stands, wet from the pain of the rain, begging me to take her back.
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Position of NeutralPoetry
Ben's throat cancer has returned. Living a lonely life, he found a woman he loves but finds out she's been unfaithful. Ben starts to think the lonely position of neutral isn't that bad. He writes poems and dialogue narratives. Will Ben survive cance...