Arrogance

Everyday, he scratched his head harder and harder.
He sat on the floor of his garage,
and watched as the dried blood flaked onto the ground.
Murmurs leaked out of his swollen and dry lips attempting to
make out the word, "arrogance."

Partially conscience, he reached for the bottle of hard liquor next to him.
Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he held in the smoke as long as he could.
Coughing and spatting alcohol all over the floor, he smiled and smirked at
a blood-caked scalpel.

Thirty-two days since the incident.
Thirty-two days since he saw her.
Thirty-two days since he held her.
And thirty-two days of self-repentance.