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