"Sooner or later, somehow, anyhow, I was bound to write a novel. It seems vain to ask why. Men are born with various manias: from my earliest childhood, it was mine to make a plaything of imaginary series of events; and as soon as I was able to write, I became a good friend to the paper-makers."Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

Wednesday, 9 May 2012

Falling Apart

Every beat of my heart hurts,
That means it must have broken.
Vomit rises in my throat,
Stomach tangling in knots,
My eyes burn with stinging tears.

When did I become afraid,
Of the man I've always loved?
His rage and hatred chill me,
I don't understand the anger.
I love him, but it burns me.

He loathes my everything.
I just wish I could fix it.
I miss him. His smile and his
embrace. The sound of his laugh.
All that is left is this shell.

Depression consumed his soul,
Left him trapped in the dark.
I can't bear to watch him dying.

I try so hard to be strong,
Faking smiles and hiding tears.
It gets harder every day.
It is inevitable.
I am going to crumble.

Inside I'm already broken.
Piece by piece I fall apart,
Secret pain I cannot share.
Often I am told to leave,
but how can I abandon him?

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