Self Pardoned
In the place I used to reside, it was a special kind of Hell.
Broken words and shattered glassware sparkling on the floor,
Paint climbing off the walls, plaster cracking,
The very structure looking for escape.
When I would wake up, hands fisting the sheets,
Cold and damp in the certainty of my mortality,
I’d dismiss the truth of my situation.
Coffee would be made in a war zone,
I’d flee to the porch, still in my nightgown,
To blind myself with curling cigarette smoke and ash.
On days when life was less volatile,
I could forget that I knew it would always revert to being terrible here.
The fact that those better days grew more and more scarce, was a blessing.
It left me with much less time for pretense.
It was only this forced clarity that allowed me to break the spell and leave.
(2013)
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