Loss of Control

The image is taken from Google.

The morning sun shone through the curtains
My lips curve into a pleasant smile
I haven't felt this good in a long time
I am rid of her, at last.

I turn to the mirror on the wall
what better than my face to look at in the morning
"Blood!" I am not hurt.
The mirror. It bleeds. How?

The red liquid forms a face
"No!" It cannot be.
She is dead. I killed her.
I can still feel her soft skin bruise as I squeezed her throat.

Too much drink last night.
I step into the shower. Water can wash away anything.
Cold as ice, the droplets hit he hard
I sigh and stare into deep blue pools. Her eyes.

Stumbling out of the shower, I grab a robe
The soft cloth, a balm to my pounding heart.
Why am I acting this way? I am a man.
I am the power that destroyed her life. She cannot scare me.

Hot, scalding coffee burns my mouth
It pumps adrenaline through my veins
I look around the house, it is perfect.
The peace disturbed by a musical laugh. Hers.

I have a special love for the city traffic
The car races on the streets
I sing with my favorite rock band,
A voice chimes along. The car skid on the asphalt. She loved to sing.

Fifteenth floor. Suite room. Doors and windows locked.
This place has the best food and drink.
My stomach grumbles. Never before I had to skip my lunch.
The wine tastes different. Rustic. Bloody!

Pills. Thank god for science.
I will kill her again and again.
How dare she, a mere woman
play games with me? I am the boss. I will show her.

Sheets tangle around my limbs.
The room is hot, stifling. I cannot breathe.
It's her face, everywhere- on the chair, on the glass, in my head.
My hands lunge for her throat. Her laughter echoes, louder.

"No! Go away! Stay away from me!"
I will send her away. I will. I will.
"GO!"
Why is this happening to me? I am strong.

"Hallucination." That's what she is.
A fragment of my imagination. I can control it. I can. I will.
I push aside the curtains. The wind is whispering. "Embrace me. Come to me."
I hear it say. I nod and step out of the window. Free falls are liberating.




This is an attempt to write dramatic style of poetry.