Paying The Rent

My woman was gone and the empty bottles like brown corpses surrounded me with their uselessness. The sun was still good, though, and my landlady’s face a hue formed in some fire and undemanding in it's yellowness. What was needed now was a certain good samaritan, that can look upon such heart felt pain. Most pain of this nature is absurd. Absurd because it exists, nothing more. l shaved hastily with an old rusty razor the man who had once been young and no longer was to have said. I used to have a certain genius. Now that the final act has played out in some play. That’s the tragedy of all the new youth. At the edge of death and the dead. And as I walked into the dark hall. Where the landlady stood smelling of age and mothballs. Shreaking her voice and so final, sending me again back to the well. Waving her fat, hairy arms and screaming at me for the rent. All because the world had failed us miserably both. And now feeling like her defeated. I finished off the bottle and killed her.