Doppelganger (Poetry Monthly)
By Silver Spun Sand
Fri, 17 Jul 2015
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4 comments
I have to agree with you. Could be
your double, and I should know. Even
that mole on her cheek. The bastard wanted
a clone of you, and he succeeded.
That day you met her in the pub...you made
it no secret. You could have scratched her eyes out.
What good what it have done, though?
So, you kept your cool; he promised
to love you in sickness and in health.
What a joke and so cruel! Only one
he loves is himself.
He’s still a child, deep inside,
acting out his Walter Mitty world.
Pretending everything’s all right –
even though you might have
only a few months left to live.
Said he couldn’t stand the stress
of not planning for the future.
Didn’t want to end up alone,
or words to that effect, that’s why
he shacked up with her.
A sort of back-stop, an understudy,
ready groomed for the part, who’d jump
straight in, fill your shoes, as required.
Today you’re in remission, and now
he’s stalling for time. Suggests you three be ‘friends’,
but then he lives in a dream-world, and girl
you’d better believe it, like hell you had!
You know you’re mad. You don’t need me
to tell you. But what’s the alternative? What choice
is there to make if you’re insane enough
to keep on loving him?
Doesn’t deserve you, the prick! Sorry,
but it gets me going just thinking of it.
Countless nights on your own, and where was he?
Only shagging her.
Now, dry those eyes. Pull yourself together,
kid. Shut tight the cabinet door...and,
don’t even think about the unthinkable.
Put those pills back on the shelf.
Look...the mirror’s all fugged up,
now. Can’t even talk to myself...
not anymore.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
Hi Tina.
Hi Tina.
Sometimes I think - thank goodness for poetry, where we can let these thoughts and feelings flood out, when we don't get the opportunity to vent them on those who deserve the worst. And you do it so well - the writing, I mean. He sounds like a right stinker!
Bee
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'Said he couldn’t stand the
'Said he couldn’t stand the stress
of not planning for the future.'
Poor him!
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