Exit Wound

 I was once again cleaning out my personal email. Only 20,000 more to get through, ha ha! I do a search on a product or company and then delete them. Seems quick and easy but it isn't because for some reason old emails with attachments featuring my writing always show up. I don't want to delete these, no matter how old they are. So I have to click on each item individually to make sure I don't delete the wrong thing. But it's mindless and gives me time to think, so it's all good. Well, most of the time!

Anyhoo, as I was doing this I came across an old manuscript entitled "Old Boyfriends". This was a poetry book I wrote 20 years ago, but never published. Instead, I took some of the darker poems and put them in an eBook entitled "Death Becomes You: The Anti-Valentine". But I digress...

I took a couple of minutes to look through this, to see if I could identify the "old boyfriends". I came across one particular poem, read it, and I have no idea who it was about! I racked my brain and came up empty. Weird!

So in honor of this mystery poem about a mystery man: here it is for your reading pleasure...

Exit Wound

I lie here bleeding on the floor; I see you leave: you shut the door.

You didn't lay a hand on me, You killed me metaphorically.

I did everything you asked. I even overlooked your past.

Apparently it's not enough to keep you, hell, love is rough.

I gave up everything for you: my fun, my life: I thought I knew.

You wanted more, there's nothing left. Now I lie here, all bereft.

I happily danced to your tune though you treated me like a buffoon.

You gave me little in return. Now I'm feeling a slow burn.

You really have a lot of gall to make me beg and make me crawl.

Who did you think that you are? A singer, athlete, movie star?

Now that I've had time to think: you always had to have a drink.

You complained an awful lot, and acted like a teen-aged snot.

Just who spoiled you anyway? At your beck and call each day.

She was crazy, as was I. Here's the question: why, why, why???

You're kind of cute but nothing great. A lot of times you showed up late.

Your wardrobe was okay I guess. But sometimes boy, you looked a mess!

You had a job but not much cash. It disappeared in a quick flash.

You didn't always pay my way, and wanted my cash on payday!

I've had a little more time to think. Now I'll pull back from the brink.

What was going through my mind? You're not worth it: you're a swine.

I deserve the very best. That ain't you, you were a pest.

I can see I'm better off. You're not even worth a scoff.

There's one thing I have to do: Call you up and say fuck you!

You don't get the last word here and I won't shed another tear.

I get up and look around. You won't run me in the ground.

Strength and savvy now I find. Now I'll dump your broke behind!

Again: no clue who this was about. But if you read this and recognize yourself: please refresh my memory. Or maybe not!