Late night eyes and rotting swollen skin,
Perhaps it senses the toxic month that sloshes around my vains,
Lolling in a long length love, a silly game of broken lines, that I don't think I'm about to win;
Committing myself to some sort of fateful tied up legacy, don't forget the pretty silk ribbon, the dripping jewel encrusted chains,
I'm about to play Mary Poppins, yet I'm considering being barren,
Everyone says it's destined, I think it might be celestial, it could be that it's just apparent.
And let's be honest: I haven't forgotten him. I have a whole three bloody books,
Just complaining of how I loved him, how he left me, how he was screwed up;
How the bed shook.
Not with me, with his abuser,
A lifetime ago, when I was ever the loser,
Before this new man had smothered me with his arms, told me I was his world,
And beguiled me with whispers of a future life's charms.
That time has long gone. I am glad it is in the past.
I dislike my previous husky voice, and I knew it couldn't last...
It sings sweeter now. Bakes cakes and thinks about taxes, curtains and softer mattresses.
It gets hurt by miles, yet sighs a little when there is no one here to make me cry.
Part of me wishes my breath would leave, but that would leave too much of a trail,
Too much instability for those who over time have failed,
To let the me inside me; just thrive.