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Miles Ahead

Miles Ahead
By kennethcook on 04/01/2013
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She wipes the angry, bitter tears off her flushed cheeks,
and zips up the suitcase, as she prepares to head out.
She swiftly and roughly runs the brush through her blonde hair
one more time; catching a glimpse of her tight-lipped,
frowning mouth, and her red-rimmed, glassy eyes
in the mirror, then turns quickly away and heads for the door.

Little does she know it,
though she wouldn't really care:
I'm already miles ahead of her,
and I've left her far behind.

She suddenly pauses at the doorway, takes a deep breath,
and the truth rains down on her in a deluge of sorrow.
She loses her grip, dropping to her knees in weak, trembling
agony, overwhelmed with sick, black, searing hatred;
her hands yanking at her hair, and her mouth yawning open
to emit a primal, guttural, shrill scream at the injustice of life.

Little does she realize it,
though it wouldn't matter at all:
I'm miles and miles ahead of her,
and I'm never looking back.

Kenneth Norman Cook

By kennethcook On 4/1/2013 7:52:09 AM
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