Poem-A-Day: Day 490

Where in the World

Where did you go 
without a clue, a word? 
What did I believe? 

I can't believe my sense of humour 
gets away with murder.
You make an aftertaste of bitterness 
hit me in lips, awake, alone, wishing
you'd come leave desolate
and go fight someone else's war.
 
Shame, don't come near me. 
Go away, mess,
my humour can't you hear me.

Go away.
I can't believe the humour
wearing thin 
gets away with murder. 
Can't you hear? 
You make it go. 
Won't you make it go?