In The Absence Of Life Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

This morning I forgot how to love.
Parading my anger silently through the
embattled house.

I sat under a glow of amazement
under the impression that the
day would not get any better.

My pulse strikes irregular
in the measurement of life.
I am who I am
because
that is the only way
I learned to survive.

And I might be accused of
countless crimes, but keep in mind
that my main crime
has been learning how to cope
in an indifferent or hostile
sort of place.

I find I am almost
always unprepared to defend myself
against a smoking gun of
accusations. Endlessly firing
bullets of malice into
an embittered, shattered soul.

Like a battering ram the topic
shifts from one error to another.
all of which I assume I am
responsible for.

I am at fault for everything.
I accept the blame and the shame
that comes from marring your
perfect world with my presence.

As I sit and recognize
all of my short-comings,
on my shoulder sits a
small image of myself.
Its
voice shouts into my mind.

It is the sound of
an insane man,

laughing, laughing, and laughing