Between The Ecstasy And The Abuse Poem by Stan Rodriguez

Schedule me in tomorrow's
passing thought
somewhere between the ecstasy
and the abuse.

The outrage of our union was too short
to make sense of the mischievous
nature of our youth.

And still the decades roll on by
tarnished only with memories
of what could have been.

I remember the distress of who you were
(Helter-Skelter) —
a lover of death
or so you seemed.

What illusions formed you then
that made you want
destruction or despair?

An addict—cruel slayer
depriving all those selected fools
unwanted guest
that thrilled you to the bone
and you discarded
the moment love reared up its head.