sometimes i want him to hurt so bad his hours start to bleed into days. a rotting corpse under the burning sun.
i would like to see his face when i walk out the door. better yet, his shame when i don’t return.
because this is what it feels like. he’s making me stale. but this has been happening for quite some time now.
incapable of harnessing any sense of control, he fights the raging battle; tormented at sea by his own unwillful creation. the antithesis of co-anthing, his selfishness encompasses all that he breathes.
and then there’s me. trailing behind his seemingly tattered and weary boat, there i so incautiously reside. choked by the neck, the rope pierces my skin like a thousand rusted needles. up and down, up and down, around, they rip and pull at my tolerance. my sickening endurance.
i gasp for air. but here, breath does not exist. the salty sin burns and boils my lungs. my tounge is numb. my eyes cry blood. and he trails on.
where. am. i.
