SLIPPING INTO MADNESS
She stood in the door. Looking at me on
the bed.
Smiled. And walked away. I never
saw her again.
The tap was dripping. I covered up all
the holes
in the wall. Recovery begins with
addiction. She said.
Love was our problem. But I didn't know
what love
was. A character in a Charlotte Bronte
novel. Or the
angels in Dylan's voice.
I wanted to face the west wind. My hair
blowing free.
My smile slipping into madness. But I
only learned
in the old age home, that no one was
watching.
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