A bunch of coins
A rolled up paper
A tinge of flame
And I burned myself to death.
A long day’s work
A dusky evening
A bottle of liquid
And my babies died of hunger.
A sweaty note
A cool idle night
A perfumed whore
And I saw my wife’s corpse.
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A stark and uncompromising response to the recourse to self-indulgence, in venal “pleasures” that really do have consequences.
Thank you Louis.
This is an accomplished write.. I don’t know enough words to express what I feel about this poem… Well done, succinct n effective.
Thank you Sana, I am really honoured.