the day the shit hit the fan

tv dinners

in
tattered jeans
and
grubby vest,

he
snuggled,
squished
into
his
grubby
sofa nest.

metaphorised
into the fabric.
they became as one.

he hugged
a bottle
of vodka
tight.
his lover
for tonight.

darkness came
like a blanket.
curtains drawn,
in his room.
in his mind.

keeping.outside.out.and.inside.in.

closed to the life
she chose to
leave behind.

he
aimlessly
clicked
through
tv channels,

ever
changing
images.

burning
his mind with
blame filled
vodka memories
of life the way it was
before the shit
hit the fan.

of life before the storm.

life.before.the.day.she.left.

acceptance

a well fed mouse
squeaked
and scurried.

their eyes met.
he knew this mouse.

this
friendly mouse
in his house.

his friend,
the mouse,
in their house.

this empty shell.
his private hell.

his choice
since.the.day.she.left.

tears at bedtime

after the storm,
he drowned in debt.
swam through bills,
subsisting on dreams
and vodka and pills.

sharing pizza crusts
with his pet mouse,
in this house.
this lonely house,
their house,
his home,
alone

a.prisoner.to.his.melancholia.

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