Author Information
Marriage
Folder:
The Every Now and Thens I am reaching for a way out as
you place a strategic hand over my mouth and
smother my life from under me
Our marriage is a death that won't stop dying
It is cob webbed,
it is a metaphor for every awful scream I cannot let out
You are selfish, unmerciful
old, limp, and decayed
My man,
my self righteous bastard
I despise the very air you suck through
your lungs
If I had the guts I would strip you down to
the necrotic core that permeates into me
March is coming, and
I want nothing anymore
If only you would leave it be
Leave me with some chance to reconcile my life
But you will not.
I am not that lucky.
