Some days the light goes out in the hall,
Flickering like cigarettes shared on
Windy nights out by the lake.

Awkwardly I had figured out you were
Losing faith as I chained smoked my nerves
Into a nicotine daze, waiting for the end.

I rise two steps towards the upper corner,
Unsteadily waffling on a two-step, step ladder,
Given to me by my dad before he turned yellow

And died. The bulb burns, a yellow sizzle.
How one forgets a lit bulb is acutely hot
I don’t know, but I remember now why I

Put up with the flicker for so long,
Sighing a sigh each time as though
The act of changing is really just too much.


About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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