The Tomb

 

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.