1 min read
Слушать(AI)Confession
waiting for deathlike a catthat will jump on thebedI am so very sorry formy wifeshe will see thisstiffwhite bodyshake it once, thenmaybeagain"Hank!"Hank won''s not my death thatworries me, it's my wifeleft with thispile ofnothing.
I want tolet her know thoughthat all the nightssleepingbeside hereven the uselessargumentswere thingsever splendidand the hard wordsI ever feared to say can now be said:
I loveyou.
Charles Bukowski
Henry Charles Bukowski (born Heinrich Karl Bukowski; August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German-American poet, novelist, and short story writ
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Hemingway Never Did This
I read that he lost a suitcase full of manuscripts on atrain and that they never were recovered I can't match the agony of thisbut the other night I wrote a 3-page poemupon this computerand through my lack of diligence andpracticeand by playi...
Curtain
the final curtain on one of the longest runningmusicals ever, some people claim to haveseen it over one hundred times I saw it on the tv news, that final curtain:flowers, cheers, tears, a thunderousaccolade I have not seen this particula...
So You Want To Be A Writer
if it doesn't come bursting out of youin spite of everything,don't do it unless it comes unasked out of yourheart and your mind and your mouthand your gut,don't do you have to sit for hoursstaring at your computer screenor hunched over yourty...
Freedom
he drank wine all night of the 28th, and he kept thinking of her: the way she walked and talked and loved the way she told him things that seemed true but were not, and he knew the color of each of her dresses and her shoes-he knew the stock and c...