A Cleave Poem is in two halves; “one should be able to read the left column (what’s in regular font), right column (in bold font), and each line across as a combined thought giving you three distinct poems.”
She took the life out of my eyes when she shot me in the head; it never occurred to me that there was any other way to end our situation.
I could feel myself slipping away after an intense moment of suffering; staring at a point in space, I barely realized what I’d done.
I heard her come in the door, not making a sound; slipping in the house quietly, silently, a ghost of vengeance.
I knew she would come someday, her husband was my lover; chapped berry lips trembling I thought of all the things life might have been.
I couldn’t blame her for coming here enraged and drunk on wine; Cabernet from the grocery store, liquid courage to even the score.
She was his wife for twenty-years, I was Sam’s girlfriend for five-years and he was divorcing her; not going to let Sam win, to have his perfect life and woman.
The moment the shot rang out I knew death had come calling: I’d never shot a gun more than twice. The kick-back hurt and the bullet struck home.
Sam heard the shot from the bedroom and arrived to face death and enraged screaming; seeing Sam there, I shuddered not even realizing it when he lay dead; dead as I felt.
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