that fatal toothbrush.

a man stands in front of a window.
he sees his previous lover, smiling,
dining with a date. a purpose.
without any inclination of thought
towards his efforts
of remembering to return her toothbrush.

he turns, gets into his car,
presses his foot down, with gentle precision,
and drives straight through the red brick front wall
of his previous lover's house.


i know now, i am still hurting.
i know, that i am still angry.
i know now, that i will be this lonely
for quite a time.

i tried to cling on, too close
some may think it trivial,
to persevere in suffering
for the sake of barely three weeks, in younger years.

but love is a wealthy friend
it lingers, with good intentions
to postpone sobriety
now, it is asking to be excused, at last.

hurt and anger are staying the night
hence, i must lie and wait til morning,
remove the keys from the hungry ignition
and nurse an old aching wound.

i'm sorry, for holding on too much.

red brick walls intact, fingers crossed.