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
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...
For Jane With All the Love I Had Which Was Not Enough
I pick up the skirt, I pick up the sparkling beads in black,this thing that moved oncearound flesh,and I call God a liar, I say anything that movedlike thator knewmy namecould never diein the common verity of dying,and I pick up her love...
Cows In Art Class
good weatheris likegood women-it doesn't always happenand when it doesit doesn'talways ismore stable:if he's badthere's more chancehe'll stay that way,or if he's goodhe might hangon,but a womanis changedbychildrenagedietconversationsexthe moonthe ...
Finish
We are like roses that have never bothered tobloom when we should have bloomed andit is as ifthe sun has become disgusted withwaiting