Hell must be empty she thought
‘cause all the demons are here
in this dark lonely place
she once thought was heaven.

He was life sucking in his perfection
leaving her an empty husk
no longer the woman she once was
each day a dreaded hanging page,
operating system frozen.

Smiling arrogant bastard;
he clips coupons to save a few pennies
while wearing slippers
he keeps in a cozy space.

Her friends told her
such men will hurt you,
laughing when she spoke of his perfection
“Give him the Voight-Kampff test!
No one here believes he’s real”

But she could not see
beyond addicting toxic beauty
or notice that the Siren call
was off key ever so slightly
Circe leading her to the rocks.

And so on a rainy Sunday morning
while he slept in his pajamas
she decided over coffee that she hated him
and would not live here



illustration by Act Yos


About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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3 Responses to Perfection

  1. 😦 What an amazing, emotion-filled poem! I’ve known too many who found themselves there.


  2. beetleypete says:

    That is quite a spooky illustration, Frank. Suited the poem though, which was first-rate,.
    Best wishes, Pete.


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