A poem about cheating and the grief and pain it causes.

A cool breeze awakes him from his bed

He places in his hands, his aching head

He lets go and takes the bottle of wine, a wise man’s bane

Empty. Oh well, at least it dulled the pain.

He wearily walks from room to room

His grief, his pain, they threaten to consume

He knows she loves him, but then, why would she do this?

All he wants now is the pain to stop, just some bliss

He wanted to be hers forever, he was going to propose

But no, it can’t happen. He walks to the livingroom and takes a rose

Flowers, ring, his body, his soul. She had it all.

But in the end, he was just a thrall

She calls it being herself, he calls it being a whore

He finds himself in the kitchen, next to the knife drawer

Taking the sharpest blade, he runs it along his thumb

Instead of the hurt, constantly devouring, he starts feeling numb

Watching the blood drip onto the floor he takes it to his arm

Should he do it? Should he harm?

He looks through the doorway to the fireplace

There’s a picture of them both, in his mind an image of her face

Begging him, pleading him not to do it, to join her, and to start anew

He trusted her. Time after time she did something else yet he was stuck to her like glue

No more. He can’t live with her, he can’t live without.

If he were to live with her, his mind would be full of doubt

His mind would constantly think about the bad things

Maybe one, maybe two he could handle, but these are worse than stings

Dropping the knife he slumps to the floor

He can’t do this anymore…

But neither can he do this to her. He knows she loves him

His eyes start filling to the brim

He wishes he never existed, he was never in her life

So he could take his own, and stop the strife…

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