Requiem Night

In the dark of the night, he heard her calling his name.Crying out for his frame
He reached up and out, over and about the sheets
Still no sign of her warmth around
He gets up and  walks as if lame
As if carrying a heavy burden upon his frame

The fridge light is blinding
Illuminating the dark of his cave
A slight look around
He picks a cold half finished brew
Some condiments and some bread
Shuffles back to bed

He could taste the hops
They flow down his dry throat
Hurtling to the center of him
To the place of the ache within
He munches his sandwich and scratches his head
He pauses
He sighs
She never liked him to eat in bed

Her words cut like a knife through butter
Her pleas for him to grow up
To man up, shut up or never again blow up
He was defiant though
Never did grow up, man up, shut up
And boy did he ever blow up

Like a surreal dream he'd watched it happen
He saw his avatar lift his hand and hit her across the cheek
Saw the rage in is eyes
The horror in hers
Saw her beg him not to do this
Watched him unveil his manhood
Ready to take her
He looked away

His hand still bruised and stitched up
Reaches for another two bottles
His eyes averted from the searing light from that freezing tiny room of storage
He mumbles to himself
He downs the contents of the brown bottle like an elixir to his wounded-ness is within
He hear her voice again
Calling sweetly gently
"Let me go"

He goes back upon his bed
Their bed
And he listens for her voice again
It came to him often
Soothing him, haunting him
Every night
And Every night he tried to down his sorrow
But his sorrows had learned to swim


He wished he could say he was sorry
But that would held no sway
Not this night
And especially not in the cold light of day
When he'd begged her, and begged her
When moisture left his face and breaths felt so faint
She left, she walked
And inside, Deep inside,
He was happy for her
She deserved better
She'd let it go

He turns to his side
And throws up all over his sheets
The warm liquid waste is warm against his body
He wallows in it
Like a hog in filth
He punishes himself
He doesn't deserve to be clean
He needs to be filthy
He needs to feel it

More vomit comes up
He stares at it
The relief of hurling offers some ease
He wishes he could throw a finger down his throat
And spit out all the sadness
Till he was dry heaving all the pain out of him
But all that comes is more pain
He waits for the morning
For the distraction of day
Of work and people and wedding meetings and media scandals


He looks out his tiny window
Dawn is breaking
Another night he's made it through
Another day he hasn't fallen through
through to the point of ending it all
There's no forgiveness for the oppressor
only the oppressed
No relief for the pain giver
But maybe there is a tomorrow
Maybe tonight he will rest
Maybe tonight he will forgive himself
Maybe tonight he will man up
Maybe.