A Self-Righteous Suicide

The table remembers the two lovers using it

As they played chess,

And laughed together;

As they looked into each others eyes,

And promised they would never lie to the other.

The table remembers the lovers well.

The wood would tell them that it remembers them,

If it could.

And the chairs would stare, if they were self-aware.

She sat right there.

And he,

Right across from her.

The table figured they would always be together.

But now,

He sits at it alone.

Like a king on his throne.

A proud man,

Who failed to understand

What it takes to love a woman

Like her.

The chair was sure they’d stay together forever.

It never imagined a future

Where they wouldn’t be something.

Not when the two of them had the potential to become

Anything.

The man drinks on the table,

As he sits in the chair,

All alone;

On his prideful throne.

Where he fights the demons in his head,

Where he writes every scenario out before he is dead

He never leaves

And the leaves on the trees

Change color and fall

While he 

Bleeds

He bleeds

And bleeds

Into the keys

A fitting self-righteous suicide in his mind.

The table would call for help if it could

But the cracks in the wood fill up with his blood

Like little red rivers 

And a shiver 

Runs down the chair’s legs 

As the sinner

Feels the winds of winter

On his skin

With no hope

No warmth within

And no coat

The table and chair knows

This is his end 

There is no spring in this story

Only a frozen soul

Who never learned how to love anything more

Than his own soul

Before he faded away

Like we all eventually do

He feels as if

A self-righteous suicide like this long over-due.

-CH 9/2/25