Ruing the death of who he used to be.
Loving, rueing and ruling.
Ruling in the way he ties me down - restrictive,
After he breaks my will, he breaks down and rues,
The loss of himself, the tender lover who knows
I want nothing to do with his drunken groping,
His sunken gaze and selfish love making.
When he comes home to me,
To bury his burdens inside me,
I ask myself if this is what I wanted to be.
A loving wife, loving no more, this fake intimacy.
Forced to play house with a broken man,
Who burns and bullies just because he can.
Our smiles shine like mirrors, the silver inside fading;
The dazzling lights leave questioning stains that aren't reflecting
What they want to see but what it really is.
No longer shining, but a grey, cold, loveless mess.
When he comes home to me,
To the failing business our matrimony,
I want him to see the empty premises,
And know that I've left with everything except the carnage
Of all the hopes, plans and promised he killed.
When he comes home, he won't be near me.
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