Goodbyes.

Figured I'd kick off with an Italian-style sonnet, since after years of writing Shakespeareans, I'm a little burned out on the form. It's still my go-to form for when I'm uninspired, so don't worry, you'll be seeing a lot of 'em. In the meantime, though...


Goodbyes

"Je n'aime plus la vie," she said today.
She smiled at me, that empty sort of smile
my mother wore as we drove every mile
from church to grave. She never heard me say
goodbye to her, she never heard me pray
for mercy through the haze of tears and bile
as I lay drunk upon a bed of tile.
Sweet wrenching pain, you never went away.

But this, this is a different sort of pain,
no burning lance; instead, a vacant sigh.
A pastless girl who's never tasted you,
the morning's vapid fuck still on her skin.
Another one won't hear me say goodbye.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm tired of it too."