I lay, I thought, dying.
You lay beside me, not letting me.
When I could not form a word,
You knew instinctively what I needed.
I looked at you through clouded vision,
Yet somehow I could see with perfect clarity how much you loved me.
You inspired me, to live, despite the diagnosis.
I can't say thank you enough.
I only hope time gives me enough of itself to allow me to try.

The mistake.
This technology we now have, we make gut-ripping mistakes with it.
Or, at least you do.
With your fanciful lies of love and life, to me.
Again, the pain of the lies.
It never ceases, it takes new shape and gathers steam.
Like drinking a fine wine, only to discover, you've poisoned it.
Once, only once - I believed in your love, until you smashed me in the face with reason not to. Bruising my face, my ugly, docile face.
A burn, that singed my soul.
That mistake. Your mistake.
That message - you sent it - to me,  but... it was not for me.
Always I dream what my intuition is trying to sell, always you lie and hide it well.
You planted that seed long ago, your first technoligical mistake - I've been an utter fool.

Five hours from now, you will leave me again.
You've only just returned from your nearly 24-hour time away from me.
I don't trust you.
Because of the many trysts you've had in back seats of cars and "God" knows where else.
You hide.
But, too, you forget - I can see your soul.
If I so choose, I can breathe the stench of your ****** and vile get-off sessions - not from your clothes, but from looking you square in your lying face.
It wreaks of the absence of love. Love for me that is.
That's okay though.
I make plans.
One injection.
My pain ceases.
You won't know, no one will.
I will leave - you know, because you separate yourself from me 19 of 24 hours, and you will have no idea that I've gone.
I will find an old decrepit garage, or abandoned warehouse.
I will sneak in, death juice and syringe in tow,
In the dark and wet corner I will sit.
Listening to Adagio for Strings (you never cared enough to know how much I love it), I will do the deed.
You won't know.
Who knows what you'll think.
Weeks will pass and flesh will rot.  
I'll be identified not by the love in my heart, but the love that will yet be on my finger - our wedding ring.
You are not solely responsible for this - this demise.
But, you were my Savior from all that came before.
Saviors lie.

You made me promises,
And I wrapped myself in them like melodies on a hazy Sunday morning,
I savored them, twisted them and made them into fibers that I wove into my existence.
And then,
Then you broke me.
And I let you.
I let you because I didn’t know better.
Beyond time and tide you were a brilliance, a light, that warmed and coddled me into this desperate oblivion.
A ***** oblivion.
Polluted.
Shards of glass beneath my feet.  Clothes made of extreme anxiety.
And in this moment, I blame you.
But, no longer.
I accept that I allowed your entrance into my life.
I allowed you to be more for me than I ever trusted anyone else to be.
It isn’t my fault that you disappointed me.
I suspect that I am not the first of your disillusionments.
Look at you.
Your physicality is breathtaking.
Every muscle, every nuance of your outward being is a tantalizing treat of enticement and temptation.
I know it isn’t where you end, though.
You had it in you to devise your plan of promises and expectations.
Did you catch what I said there?
Devised.
A negativity.
Not something endearing or stunning.
Maybe I am wrong.
It has been years into this.
And I was wounded well before you.
In consideration of that deep disdain, I must not always believe you to be a fraud.
Surely, not every fraction of your being has set out to malign my heart.
Yet, you have.
Maligned me.
Cast me out into a void that stinks of rot and old.
And so, I float. I linger. I coast along.
Slow-motion.
My own private Hell.
Wondering every time you go out if you will return with the stench of infidelity wafting through the air.
So, I float.
Oil and water, flesh and bone, separate and together.
Endless.
Or, is it?

Someone’s here to see you,
He is insistent,
I don’t know who it is, blue suit.
The bell rang and I answered.
He has glasses and a glow.
He said something about good people.
Good people.
That meant you, I knew he needed you.
What do you want me to tell him?
To leave the box?
Okay. I didn't see a box.
He did say he knew you were here.
I don’t know how.
But – he did.
He has dreamy eyes, blue like his suit.
I sat him on the sofa.
Away from the china.
I know how you like your china.
Well, yes – I let him in, why?
I meant to do the right thing.
I always do the wrong thing though.
He is like music.
He is magical when he walks.
I think I love him.
It is not silly!
He is magic.
And light.
He walked such a short distance to the sofa.
The corner of the rug flapped up as he made his way.
I didn't put it back down.
He is dreamy though.
Why can’t he stay?
What will I say to him?
I know him.
He looks like you.
He made his way here.
For you.
For me.
For us.
Let him stay, please.
I don't know who he is.
I thought you did.
He'd asked for you.
He came to save us.
You and I.
From each other.
What do you mean?
He doesn't exist!
Hmmphhh!!!
Indeed!
His blue suit and blue eyes are right now on the sofa.
Next to the china.
Waiting for you.
With a box I didn't see.
Yes, I took my medicine.
I always take my medicine.
You know that.
I DID NOT miss taking them last night.
I did see the man.
He is magic.
He is light.
He is right now sitting right next to your ****** bone china.
He has blue eyes.
And a ****** blue suit.
AND a box I didn't ******* see.
He rang the bell.
I walked him toward the sofa and the rug flipped.
I told you that.
I would feel better if you went in to greet him.
At least to say hello.
He has a gift for you.
A box.
No, I didn't see a box.  
You said he had a box, not me.
I saw his blue eyes and his blue suit.
I'm becoming distressed.
****.
Go see the man.
Yes, I'm ******* sure he's sitting on the ******* ****** sofa.
Yes, I saw him.
I think.
I'm not sure now.
I think he walked in.
Wearing a blue suit and he has blue eyes.
Did I mention he has a nervous tick?
His hand.
He had a nervous back and forth motion with his hand against his thigh.
I don't think he knows.
He is dreamy.
Magical.
Get the **** up and go see this magical man with the blue eyes.
Fine I'll go out and offer him tea.
What kind do you think he'd like?
Earl Grey?
I wonder if Earl Grey was a person.
Was he?
Maybe it is Earl Grey on the sofa next to the China.
Surely a man named Earl Grey can be trusted to sit so closely to the china.
He sounds so regal.
Earl Grey.
****** he's dreamy.
I like the word dreamy, that's why.
I'll go offer Earl some Earl.
He moves like wind.
He wasn't there.
Earl departed.
He left us.
He was here to save us.
But now, he's gone.
He came to save us but now he's gone.
I need his magic.
His blue eyes.
I feel ever so abandoned.
Did you hear that?
A knock at the front door.
I hear music.
I'll go check to see who it is.
It is a woman this time.
Shall I invite her in?

I don't know where to begin,
I don't know if I should.
After all they are only words.
Words that no one cares about.
Gone are the days of hope.
Yes, something negative - again!
No one wants to be near someone who hurts.
I am sad.
I can't be different.
It's a circle.
I hurt, no one cares, I hurt more.
Round and round it goes.
I don't like me.
I don't like the life I've had.
It started with abuse as a child.
Leading to abuse as an adult.
I allowed the love in that was there.
Even if I shouldn't have.
Then I got sick.
So very sick.
But somehow, I stay alive.
Tortured by doing so.
There is no one near.
So I try to drown the pain.
Pills and drink.
The pain is dulled, ever present.
How long can I do this?
Somewhere, deep down,
Underneath the cancer of addiction and disease,
Is a hope.
Hope.
I can barely see it but it smells pretty.
I am no where near it.
But I know it's there.
I have become a burden.
To the one person who is near me.
The one person who loves me -
Who used to believe in me.
Everything is said in the eyes
And the absence of smiles.
I wanted to be a writer.
I wanted to create beautiful stories.
I didn't want to be sick,
Or to be dead while breathing.
I wanted more.
No one wants to be near someone who hurts.