Every morning with heavy eyes,
I place my ultra strengh chemicaly
cold can, upon the length of the counter.
She always catches my stare,
holding it for a second,
stripping my disguise open and bare.
Every night, just after six thirty,
just as the sky becomes dirty
black and goulish grey,
I make my way to the fridge.
Always taking time at the soft
drink section, but knowing
I will move with unhurried
perfection, to the fridge
where the strong drinks wait,
such couloured cold bait.
Again at the counter she
steals a confession,
I am more truthful to her,
than I am to my wife.
For she sees and sells my pain.
and I come back, again and again.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unspoken-revelations-to-the-lady-in-the-off-lice/
