four poems

by Steven Bruce

Why He Drank Himself to Death

FOR FREDDY

Because it was cheaper than therapy.

Because sleep never came alone.

Because she left him for a better man.

Because the bottle felt lighter than guilt.

Because his father taught him how.

Because love felt like a cold shower.

Because he never had,

he never had a friend.

Because the stars never answered back.

Because shame begged for a shot.

Because his wounds had grown roots,

and he didn’t know how else to tend them.

Because no one ever showed him

how to say sorry

without feeling like a liar.

Why I Don’t Visit My Father’s Grave

Because dirt holds no miracles.

Because death doesn’t grant absolution.

Because he broke my mother’s heart

and nose.

Because he put the needle above us.

Because he was the colour of cowardice.

Because he taught me fear

instead of love.

Because he vanished

when we needed him most.

Because my eulogy

would smoke with gunpowder.

Because forgiveness

would be an outright, fucking lie.

Because I didn’t know the man

as well as I should have.

Instructions for Dying

You don’t fall,

you collapse.

You don’t cry,

you bleed.

You don’t beg, motherfucker,

you laugh and curse the crowd.

Death is the final bell.

Life is the bare-knuckle fight

that throws the first punch.

Instructions for Breathing

You don’t inhale,

it slips into you like sacred smoke.

You don’t exhale,

it rivers out between cracked lips.

You don’t live,

you last.

And each breath is a middle finger

through the dirt of everything

trying to bury you.

Photo of Steven Bruce

BIO: Steven Bruce is a multiple award-winning author. His poetry and short stories have appeared in numerous international anthologies and magazines. In 2018, he graduated from Teesside University with a Master of Arts in Creative Writing. His work often explores themes of trauma and resilience. Born in England, Steven now resides and writes full-time in Poland.