Wounded Widow

Times are…..
it is hard to remember
when laughter and light
humor and satisfaction
were higher on the list
than pain and despair
black holes and depression.
When I wore more smiles.
Now
sadness prevails
grey gloom
situated over top
rain forever pouring down.
I turn away.
Promises have/had been made
broken
sharded porcelain
screams
as sliver thin scores my skin
raging
blaming
fistful of hair
pulled out.
Throw me against the wall
down the stairs
tumbling head over heels
you scream
you swear
you tell me
slather me in spittle
how this is my fault
my temptation lead you to this place.
Times become…..
spooling ever outward
droplets of claret
plip
plip
plip
maddening
count one…..breath
count two…..breath
count three…..breath
hitched desire to live.
Bones knit
make-up
blues
yellows
slowly fade away
fear turns to resignation
resignation turns to rage
rage turns to…..
Come not my handsome one
(come)
See not the danger 
(blinded)
Alluring 
(seduction)
Call of the Siren
(serenade)
Lost to the sea
(adrift)
Sweet Sorrow
(Annihilation
 Bereaved Widow Grin)
©August 12/19
Picture via Pinterest
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