to whom this belle told

we're perfect for each other.

your timid beauty,
and my rugged calm.

your frail demeanor.
carressed by my open palm.

We can feed off one another,
doing this domestic dance
kids with a passing glance
as daddy hits mommy at the dinner table.

but you'll never leave me
even though you oughtta
our entire life composes
some bitter sweet sonata,
and in the fading twilight
the final verse will chime:

"you take the gun,
I'll take the whiskey,
and we'll end this thing one
shot
at a time."

and so ends a symphony of such sadness.
although, I might be wrong to say it.
a child, witness to such madness
just might write the next movement.

and so on and so fourth.