Story: The Tragedy

Eyes ablaze I hollered,
Now how could this be?
But all the pieces laid out on the floor,
So they wouldn’t believe me.

They saw my arm full of cuts and bruises,
All of which viewed suspiciously.
Self-inflicted; pretence; an artifice;
Oh, there seemed no end to my misery.

Did I do it this time, I wondered,
My concussed skull hurt a-plenty.
I would never and could never hit her,
These injuries, still a mystery.

I heard something about a broken neck,
Descriptives of a battered anatomy.
Crushed in the middle and cracked at the mouth,
I guess it’s assault and battery.

They looked at me in disgust;
The vengeance and power of my jealousy.
This time I must have gone too far,
Their looks showed no hints of flattery.

“You’ve hit the bottle again, haven’t you?”
A voice whispered soft yet bitterly.
Startled, I thought I had seen a ghost,
When she stood just inches before me.

“My god, I didn’t hit you?”
Relief quashed what I thought was the last of my agony.
But when he stood with arms around her waist,
My mind committed murder in the first degree.

“Get up, pay up and you can go,”
The officers stated all too blandly,
“For the eight broken vodka bottles,
And the fine-wood bar table cracked in three.”

I scanned the crowd and saw in those eyes,
Their enchantment by his wizardry.
They witnessed wonders in the man who held her.
Towards me? Pure apathy.

I’d wreaked havoc last night while drinking.
But I told her I could guarantee,
I’d promised this time I’ll drop the vodka…
(Just maybe not the whiskey or chablis.)

She’d shook her head and left with him, again.
It seemed no one would disagree,
She had made a better choice,
To have him in her company.

It came to light that this was
A tragedy; I was – a tragedy
She had indeed made a better choice,
To choose him instead of me.

 

 

 

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