My actual question to myself is this then.

Shall I destroy everything I have built for the sake of starting over, and feeding off the fresh new scars & pain so I can write again?

Will it be worth it?
(Maybe, of course, perhaps)

It doesn't diminish the fact I love her, does it?

Mistakes done twice are a decision.

I'm her filthy little engine of self destruction and hate. Point me in the direction you want me to go, hold me close and steer me well.

It's a forked path.
Maybe even if I do this, I'll end up on the same road I've always been on.

A vicious pronged indecisiveness.

Maybe that's why my heart is no longer with its cruel mistress.
She doesn't satisfy me anymore.
It was never about the ***, it was always the challenge. The subtle nuances she bought out.

And now.
Complacency leads to straying.

Her records stopped scratching.
How long ago, I don't know.