Somehow, I'm not too bothered, either way.
This bullheaded bastard.
One by one
He blocks me off with bricks of resentment.
But I built the foundation.
I mixed the mortar.
My slow plane crash of a marriage.
I realize there is no way out.
So I put my seat in the upright position,
And brace for landing.
I could ask for the who, what, when, where, and why.
But none of it makes sense.
The fourth dimension of pain only shows our wrongdoings,
An amorphous blob of fuckups.
He says he feels pain.
He says he's not satisfied.
He said he was satisfied with me being present,
And stopped loving me when I wasn't.
How many missteps did I take from the altar?
How many times did he lie in his sincerity?
How many times did I disbelieve his capabilities?
Always is the ever-present voice.
"Take one for the team."
"You're being foolish."
"You did something wrong."
When did my head figure out I was the one to blame,
And who gave it permission to anyway?
We are the content of our character,
The conditions of our actions,
And vessels of constant metamorphoses.
What happened to the spiritual disposition of our hearts, has left the shells of ourselves wandering into brambles of shit, and it's time to eject.
Hopefully my parachute deploys.
Maybe he won't...
Somehow, I'm not too bothered, either way...
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