Imperfect Tears

As the stain spread
across his pillowcase,
slowly dripped onto the floor.
The gun
lay just beside his open hand,
A strong smell
of cordite filled the room,
followed only
secondly by death.
Whatever was the reason,
it was over

his eyes
remained open,
although devoid of any life.
But he seemed
to have a half smile
on his lips.
A blood splattered
photo of a woman.
Was this the reason,
of his fears?
It seemed such a waste –
better to have shed a few,
imperfect tears.

(Remembering MMB)

© Fingleton (Mai 2016) (Löst Viking)öst-Viking/746104845419195

12 thoughts on “Imperfect Tears

  1. VijayNair

    An excellent snapshot of a tragic suicide.The poet’s tone is bereft of even a hint of melodrama.

    1. tapeshwar

      There can be no reason to transplant life in madness of passion, picture and pistol.

      Excellent dipiction.


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