drunken fingers knock the bottle of wine over onto it’s side

a rorschach ink blot in purple on the white linen

i refuse to look at it

unable to take the disapproving glare of the maternal figure

spite and rage written in the brown orbs and inked in reddish violet tones

whispered phrases of regret and happiness lost

like a magician gripping the edge of the table cloth with confidence

one sudden motion and dinner is on the floor all while the maroon bruise on the virginal white mocks and criticizes

didn’t deserve the respite

stain sticks and chlorine fumes as the relentless ire flares and bubbles

clumsy idiot

all of this work put in for what

another ruined meal

shampooing the remnants

cleaning the crime scene of evidence as the knives cut through soft flesh

leaving a trail of dna behind with every desperate attempt to cleanse

incapable of simple action


this is why everyone leaves or loses interest

a hidden talent at failure

drive them away with the endless pit of depression and inability to grow up

less a man than a defective anomaly in an ill fitting skin suit trying to casually blend into the crowd


no trace of the magic act remains

but all i see is the spilled wine

a chalk outline in neon pink

yellow caution tape flapping in the ceiling fan’s wake as the washing machine does it’s best to erase the evidence

her voice in the churning water spewing accusations

no matter how vigorously applied the bleach does nothing to lighten the guilt

raw chapped hands and gurgling guts mark the end of another horrid evening as nausea from the chemical scent boils up

i’m sorry i failed


i know this hurts you as much as it hurts me and you don’t deserve this pain

i do

i’ll be better next time

but for now i will go to my room and think about what i so carelessly did

not worthy of more

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