L is for Love, Lucifer, and L****


Overlooking Walmart from elevated concrete,
A service road stationed behind the mass of stone and plastic.
Spaced in organized formulations are windows
On the ceiling-
Glowing like pearl white maggots
Glinting under an afternoon sun. I avert attention from the road
To glance at my cell phone screen. “I am blocking your number,”
She claims. All I did was call her while drunk
To say hello; along with a few choice phrases
That requires clarification through implication.
But before this lost connection
She reiterated-I love you.
Such a phrase should’ve recollected happiness,
For isn’t love the greatest “thing” on Earth?
Shouldn’t the very phrase evoke the same pleasant nostalgia
As Walmart’s windows, trademarked
With school nights with nothing better to do
Than fuck with people
Who believed their time was measured in minimal
(wage) value.
But she turned love into a suffering endeavor.
A mistake that finds me trusting syringes for advice
When the muted screams of anxiety
Doesn’t provide enough clout to advance
Past her harassment. So. If losing out on love is wrong
Then I have found a perfect reason to embrace failure.

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