The wind through the leaves sounds like distant, tiny applause
and reminds me of the day you won it all.
The day you left, so happily
severing the past from the future
and killing what was killing you.
I never dared question,
the act itself was so violent,
We kept in contact, briefly,
but you sequestered yourself,
behind your success
and your lawyers
and the children.
I was never that obsessed with success.
You slammed down hard liquor and rained down aggression.
When the failures were yours
you only grew more angry
and more unstable.
No amount of sedatives could put you down.
The walls are soft in the world you ended up in
and no one uses harsh language anymore.
You aren’t dead, but there’s a little bit of spit
hanging from the edge of your mouth,
that tells me
you have vacated
yet another perfectly good host.
You always were a parasite
and a son of a bitch.
Welcome to Heritage Falls,
the food sucks,
but the view is exquisite.
HG – 2016