Philip H., a LifeRing convenor in Belfast, Northern Ireland, wrote this chilling poem about his late former wife:
Two dead mice.
One fresh, one slowly desiccating. Its head chewed, eyeless.
A new lock on the dingy door and new keys.
Inside the wooden floor was covered in something dark, like tar.
A chair upended.
Bottles, more bottles, one open, musty smell.
An expensive wine glass with some wine left.
Defiance and style to the end.