Disappeared (micropoetry 19)

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He held a grudge,  picked up his keys,

went to the bar,

never came back–just as a serial killer

began to remain at large.

 

I don’t even remember the last thing

I said to him. I still regret it, but only

when I think about it–which isn’t often

enough.

 

Note: Might become a story. This probably won’t stay micropoetry for long

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