Poetry · Writing

Plan B

The last night

heating up that night

leftovers for dinner

and here comes the winner.

Tears flying 1st class

she can see her time fly past

holding back space on two hours

long night and a cold shower.

This seat is taken

a shot will always miss if it’s never taken

making dinner for two

table set, another miss cue.

Finding the end of the barrel

holding my eyes hostage- in peril~

and I’ll find myself

talking to myself

about myself

with myself.

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