So long ago it seems now,
Since I looked at her and smiled.
My wife, my lover, now lost to me,
Consumed by her New Title:
Mother.
That spark in her eye grows dull,
Rekindled by her mewling pup,
This child that has replaced me.
I need to be needed,
I have to have purpose...
I long to be loved.
For sixteen years I have endured,
Watching her love for me whither,
Losing her reliance, becoming just a name.
For sixteen years I have retreated,
Hiding with Gentleman Jack,
The numbing oblivion hardening my soul.
No longer can I bear this pain,
I simply cannot survive without her,
and she wont be mine so long as there is...
...Max...
But without Max, the title would die.
Without her, my Love would need me once more.
That then, is the answer I have waited for.
Dropping the all-too-empty bottle,
I stagger to my feet, swaying into steady footing,
my heart beating cold as ice.
Through the kitchen, with the mess of the party left un-touched,
Passing my sleeping wife, collapsed exauhsted on the couch,
Out of the living room and up the stairs, silent in the shadows.
The door is cracked, and opens without a creak.
I stand there, looking at that young usurper...
The child who destroyed me...
That long blond hair,
Now unkempt from slumber,
Hidding the face that is so soft and gentle.
Silenced by slumber is that singing voice,
That keening others call pure,
Beautiful to hear, to be sure,
Yet it masks the evil inside.
...For surely only evil would take my wife...
The knife is heavy in my hands,
A relic from the last great War.
Sharp still, and thirsty from years without Blood.
As I begin to lift my hand,
The stroke that will save me from this Hell,
I decide to look, one last time.
I push the hair out of her face,
Look at it, so serene.
Her eyes--soft blue, and deep--flutter open,
and she says to me:
"You made it to my Birthday, Daddy"
The knife falls fast, slamming into her chest,
Its steel collapsing her lungs, silencing the screams
As I whisper back, the last words she'll ever hear:
"Happy Birthday, my Darling Max."
Author notes
I wasn't entirely sure what you wanted in this contest, with there being so many ways to die and all, but I was compelled to enter none-the-less.
I chose to write a more freestyle poem, perhaps only because it is 12:30 am and I am fatigued, but I don't think the work shoddy.
I appologize for using your father: this is clearly a work of fiction and I meant no offence, it just seemed brutally ironic to me for one of your life givers to end your life on the day you celebrate starting said life...
Anyway, happy birthday and I hope you enjoy this poem.
A contest entry
- Happy Deadly B-day SingingMyStory!! by Minstrel-Morose.
1215 points, ended September 14, 9 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please, Tell Me What You Think
Comments
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Gold! I'm sold!!!
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YES YES YES!!! OMG.....i think the contest could end now with the exciting entries I'm getting. I'm so happy!! This one is amazing. Seems you like knives my dear. (if I'm correct in who I think this is) you used one last time you murdered in my presence as well.
I love this. A lot. Im so happy! thank you thank you thank you.
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I do indeed have a thing for knives...I have quite the collection myself and I keep them all oiled, sharp, and free of damage. They are beautiful to me. Elegant, in their own right. A weapon that requires you to experience its effects, not just point and click. You get to watch their eyes, see the hope burning there, watch as in the final instant that hope is shattered...feel the blood on your hands, hear their last breath and know beyond any doubt that you have ended a life. I think wars should be fought with such weapons still, because at least when such weapons are used a soldier has to understand what they are doing...I'll stop ranting about my obsession now, lol. And before you ask, no I haven't killed any body outside of literature
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To be quite honest I was NOT about to ask that, I write about murder all the time and cant squish an ant on the sidewalk. My point remains that I LOVE your style. Thank you for killing me. (i promise im not a freak or a masochist...)
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