No, I can not sleep.
I can not cease the tears, streaming
You, I am sure, are knocked out,
In our bed or on our couch.
I, Alone again in my mothers bed;
Heart a weeping mess, tears drenching my face and pillow case.
It is the loneliest feeling in the world. What you have left me with here in our love.
There are not enough words for it; they fall frivolous to the loss,
Taking with it my hope,
My strength,
My will.
If this is love,
Then what need of I for Hell?
I am trying to rectify,
how your actions
Are always my fault.
I don't know how to make sense of it;
the constant battle back and forth, seemingly loveless and callous.
Had I been stronger,
I might have left long ago.
But he is good with his words, and his recoveries, and his just enoughs to have me believe
Change is coming.
Change has happened.
But is it enough, against the degrading jokes and devaluation?
Against the misogyny and reversed blame
For actions not mine?
Is it enough, with the drunken episodes spilled over and over,
Injuring me most everytime?
Is it enough the change,
When you still have a pick and you are still chiseling away?
Apologies, so seemingly hollow after a while.
Killing the love. Heart rebreaking, everytime I gather my strength and faith back up, in us,
as you somehow find ways to chip, chip, chip that away.
I don't know how to make sense of it,
so so many times trying to run away.
Heart stricken. Breaking. Hearing you say you love me.
"Love me"....
but if so,
Then why does my heart shake? Feel this way?
Break?
Compounding,
Compounding,
From you, what I intake.
It doesn't really matter.
None of it.
I do not want to weep anymore.
I do not want to feel chipped away at.
I have been just a fool either way.
and I'm feeling over it now.
One grand illusion.
That is what love feels like.
A Narcissistic fog
that mirages while you inhale the poisonous intake.
You are no different;
Let's not lie to ourselves.
You have left, a black cloud, drenching
Curling up at the bottom of the shower,
In a womb.
My heart is grieving in the death of itself,
and us,
and all you do to batter it,
Before apologizing and saying
"Everything is okay".
But what is okay about this?
Depression seeping through the meds.
Heart dying in minute deaths.
Chest thudding, anxieties catch.
You,
Pushing me to sacrifice everything I have left for you,
While boxing me up,
And away.
For your use.
Your amusement.
My detriment.
My Decay.
Can we sit, and listen together, and weep?
Will you mourn with me, our deaths?
Enveloped.
The music running me.
and I am in it.
Sitting in it all, right at the center, and glowing
however dim.
I cried three times today. The last would last the rest of the night, face leaking.
and maybe it definitely compounds afterall.
as my chest heaves in small (panicked) breaths, hiding in the kitchen, face buried in the hand towel, my plights of begging unmet, your mouth still rendering illicit tones and recanted compassions.
I will not let you win!
So I bury my face in the towel and sob as silently as masked breaths breaking for air,
In between my grieving heart,
And your wounds.
You keep trying to beat me.
It is a hounding and pecking invasion-
asking questions is a violation.
He takes long winds of monologues
and interrupts a single sentenced response,
with a wrath I don't understand.
Word salads and talking in circles,
Dominion and bondage-
A demanded submittal that binds my heart
in constricting suffocating squeezing
I mutilate my cuticles trying to cope.
And when it is not my cuticles, it is something else.
The breaking of the mind and spirit is slow and cloudy, under the gaslighting.
It is convincing, as one seeks to defend the simple ask of being listened to;
Suddenly pots are flying and words slung like blades,
Because how dare I.
I often think, during your tantrums,
How this is not love.
Or just perhaps, maybe you have been killing mine.
You brag, while I fade away and cry.
You gloat, while I roll my eyes and sigh.
You jest of no movie romances here,
And then attack mine.
It is a little demonic...
The way you attack the things that light up my life.
It is a little scary, the level at which you consume.
I confess, I am scared.
The cycle here repeats,
And my heart has already been too shaken up.
Yesterday, was the second time you forced the car into parking in the middle of a busy street!
What came over you?
You yelled at me so wrathfully, the people on the street looking from their sidewalk
Into our window;
I was aware they were watching the abuse, and embarrassed,
I am used to it, and still defending.
You wanted to drive us telling me to get the fuck out of the car.
I stood my ground and said no, just like the first time.
I don't know if it is the drink, or something else?
But it didn't stop for hours yesterday.
Hours of begging to drop the conversation.
Hours for begging for some peace.
Hours re-iterating I didn't think this was a good time for us to speak.
Hounded still by your confusing rage, as I did our errands for you, rather than met with thanks.
I broke for a bit yesterday.
Rescued to dinner and cocktails by my Sister.
She knows me so well.
Knows him.
And my heart trusts him less
with each transgression,
But it is the Narcissistic Rage; the Narcissistic Supply, that keep winking at me in a death of a 1000 cuts.
I keep putting my hand over the patches of skin he cuts, and look up surprisingly, into his eyes.
But he's done it with no memory.
and surely when he is like this,
There is no seeing the damage done to his lovers heart, invisible from his mind
For perhaps THAT is the supply.
And if you are punishing me,
I'm also wondering why.
Us both a little off lately.
Both, a little
Off.
My heart is dripping,
in slow and leaking tares,
everytime, you choose
the seething and boiling anger;
the abandon.
We call Him Venom.
and chain your Werewolf's up on the full
Moon,
Then we drink moon water to dispel
all that's there,
and try.
The tears stray,
as I wipe them away before you can see.
Holding for some reason my strength
Like a wall.
The fractures leak tinctures,
forming tares,
where I feel the tears.
My heart has sunken so many times,
I wonder if it still breaks during these rendevous
Or if it will just remain a minor sadness?
I wonder if it is compounding like phyllo layers papered?
I wonder what is this feeling?
and is there numbness?
(To be continued)
