The Truth

A Poem by Alexandra

I’m sure Bukowski wallowed like this too
Sitting in his apartment with a candle lit
Smoking a cigarette
Pondering how the f**k he ended in this predicament

Several lovers
Not one he loved back
Reminiscing on articles of clothing
Scents that lingered
Chugging alcohol
Writing poetry to make ends meet

He only had several loves
That stayed intact with his soul
As he ruminated in their phrases
Facial expressions

I can be a million miles away
And I’ll always find ways to grab you in my mind
Entertain ideas
Place a pin
And let it hang for the rest of the day

I’ve been cheated of true love
Many might want that of me
But, I’ll always keep looking back
And I won’t apologize
Not even Bukowski did

And I’ll die alone
Fantasizing in ghosts of my pasts
It’s what I’ve always been good at