Shane T. Wyman
I let my yellowing fingertips burn
To keep him at ease,
Adding both light and ash
Telephone poles and bridge railings.
He comes and goes in fits of rage
This nervous conscience, second self
That desires know to how the grass
Felt when I smother, bug squash
The last millimeter of orange glow out
He comes and goes as the people
Yes the people, do the same
Telling me I am better off alone
Whispering it to me
Your fault-
Not good enough-
Better off dead-
I light a cigarette to keep this man
At bay- angry and screaming in a void
Drunk punched open to the nearest door
Some type of self destruction to prove
Men don’t cry-
I know I deserve this
I feel each degree as the ash nears
The filter, exhaling the heat fades
To where you name used to live
I inhale fully- letting the smoke
Burn as I feel it tingle my lips
And forget.
***
Shane T. Wyman is a New Hampshire native. He is receiving a bachelor’s degree in English at Northern Vermont University-Johnson, where he has served as treasurer to The Writer’s Club, and as an editor for Pamplemousse (ed. 5.1). He currently resides in Vermont.