Laura

My conscience disappeared
for perhaps a few years.
I never meant to hurt you,
but I never knew
what she would want me to do.

She was sick, I told myself
she would never be well
again, this is what took her home,
through pearly gates all her own.
I thought she was leaving me alone.

But the evidence on the screen
punishes and reminds me
that the monsters in my head,
these monsters I so dread,
were born inside her lifeless bed.

I clutched the pillow case
and pressed hard against her face.
I told myself I love her
I told myself there’s no cure.
Nothing but hollow words.

Laura, the sickness killed her.
Her cancer:
Me.
Laura, the sickness killed me.
My cancer:
Infidelity.
Laura, mental sickness
got the best of me.

My sickness used hers
as a means to an end.

Laura, I never knew you well.
Laura, I’m heading for hell.
You tell me this for making a
heartbeat slowly fade away.
I can’t erase yesterday.

And as you run and scream and cry,
I slowly start realizing why
I never felt the pain before
I never opened up the door
I never thought about her more.

You were a figment from a dream,
and I had to hear your scream
to remind me of my evil past.
Things moved too fast.
Shattered glass.

I wake up and try to slowly walk
away from this malevolent mock-
reality that’s causing me
to lose touch with what’s really
me–here and there and nobody.

You have no reason to believe me
when I tell you I am sorry, Laura.
But just know that if I had it all to do again,
I’d want Mary’s last breath to be in my arms
and not beneath my clenched fists.

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