you simply won’t do —
you are eschewed
a poor pathetic thing
rolling in your memories
hanging on to the past
like a sacred tome —
You have no life of your own now
You’ve been assimilated — the we, the we!
you’ve given up control —
do you get it now?
Don’t you see?
It’s far easier to cease
than to be!
You’ve little courage —
down on your knees, pleading
the begging, the begging —
the desire to be free
is no match for fear —
you’ve bathed in it for years
it’s soaked into your skin
runs rampant in your veins
’til it settles in your heart
drips from your fingertips
from counting days on the stucco walls
How long have your passions been imprisoned here?
Twelve years, twelve years!
years like memories — wasted away
I exhaust you
I exhaust me too —
this calamity of my mind
leaves a decimated forest in its wake
nothing beautiful flourishes here
And yet, you still love me —
despite the reign of terror
I unleash with voice and hands
the screaming, screaming
and objects aimed at your head —
I am a wildebeest!
In those moments of rage
I am engulfed by fire
my eyes frantically scan
for any exit in sight
but I cannot escape myself
I am trapped inside this mind
as much a hostage to my illness
as you are for loving me
I can’t make this fair for you —
no amount of wishing makes it go away
it’s not a matter of if, but when
I will go off again —
How many times will you put out the fire?
How many times before we are both so exhausted
we are consumed by the flames?
after the happily ever after
is how fast your life turns to grey
how you lose tiny pieces of yourself
first your voice —
nothing you have to say is ever that important
next your appeal —
you look nothing like the porn chicks he prefers
then your dignity takes a walk
followed by your self-respect —
and then you awaken one day with amnesia
you don’t know who the hell you are
nor why you are in this shitty marriage —
you are alone, friendless and jobless
in a dark hole with no help in sight
Marriage should come with warning signs
bells and whistles and quick exit doors —
or at the very least, a coffin in the bedroom
to practice death upon