Well, I sleep the nights to myself.
This existence is nothing without you.
This moral coil may as well be dust,
You be the ashes to my smoke,
Isn’t that the same thing?
No, one lives on-
The other ki/lls the first.
I be the (silent) blight.
It -stalks- you in the hour of sun
down.
This green lady of envy tore you a/p/art,
Caught me in its web.
They call me the wicked witch,
But it is you who were the cruel.
Oct 29, 2021
You the Wicked
About This Poem
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Editing - draft
Comments
e.e.cummings
Liked to use punctuation like you have here. The trap of a worn out, stale relationship…. How full of angst.
Just don't know...
how I missed this one. This has all the staleness of things gone wrong; not anyone's fault, just the unattendance and daily
grind of trying to keep things going when we shouldn't. Ray is right, full of angst! ~ Geezer.
.