Sunday Night Alone

a poem by Jacob Robert Bennett

I know you

said you weren’t

in love with me

anymore, but we

live together. I feed

your dog dinner each

night. Sometimes

I think it would just be

easier if you

died. I wouldn’t

have to feel the

guilt of leaving you

again. But you’re

never here so

really what difference

does it make? I’ll just

reheat your portion

of the Chicken Parm

for lunch at

work tomorrow.

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