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poesiaTo Jenn Rubi's previous piece


You left me for 3 months with no word 
aspiring in your career as a crackhead, 
I descended into my night job as an alcoholic. 
But looking down the barrel of a shotgun between your knees, 

you quit. 
And there was me, 
my picture on the floor reminding you, 
and later, really me, 
my voice forgiving you, 
because I could never stop loving you, 
all the alcohol in the world couldn't wash that away.