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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