So, I was tired, ( as you know :)
and decided to honour and surrender my tiredness  for as long as I write the poem, at list, ...

~~~
After surrendering:

Driving to pick up a client, - Hilda,

You know Hilda,
She is the wife of the ex Italian mafia driver,

- Hilda comes,
She is seeing me, - smiling happily
( last night in her email she was in lots of pain, I expected her to cry, ...)
- we drive,

She speaks, ... I drive and listen,
( my job is to listen and breathe)
How she applied for unemployment
and the difficulties, bureaucracy, and stress
of loosing her job because of Covid,

- I listen, ...  I am no longer tired, ...

I was happy to drive Hilda, ...

We shared a pain,
                                   cracks spreading over both our porcelain faces.
                             If i told you,
            would the fissures begin to fade?
Would you feel loved?

                                                         ­                        (or would you hide away?)
                                                      Coul­d we talk at night?
                                     As the chasm we both feel begins to gape,
         as our hearts ache and the distractions fade?

(or would you hate me?)

Would you come for me
In my darkest hour?
No my heart won't bleed
It just turns sour
This rotting flesh
Inside my chest
Only causes pain
Turning me insane

I saw eyes on every wall
I swear I saw you fall
Thought you died
But you were still alive
It was all in my mind
Our lives became entwined

I don't wanna write about you anymore
I'm tired of my heart growing sore
Im happy to see you've moved on from me
Im ready to let go and let you be
But the way you hurt me still aches deep

I asked you to come for me in my darkest hour
But you pulled away and my heart turned sour
I tried to rely on you
But you couldn't follow through
Clingy, codependent, smothering, decaying goo
Sometimes I feel that's all I was to you

So now we'll just be friends
And that's how the story ends

The advice was
'Support him,
try to help him.
He needs sleep when he’s tired
(even if it’s all day).'
'Try to talk to him,
he’s hurting inside.
Help him,
he needs you.'

I believed that,
and I tried.
I tried until
I felt almost gone
My words disappeared!
A glass pane formed
between myself and the world.

I didn't know
I could go too far.
Give too much support.
No-one says that,
who would have thought?

I didn’t know
support can become a crutch.
He could settle,
no need to improve.
Who would have thought?

Depression is real.
It just doesn’t mean
that you are first always,
or that you don't need to try
or talk to your spouse.
That was just -
taking advantage.

The apple of my eye
The sun in my sky
Even though it feels like needles in my nerves
I keep those memories close by
On my toast I’m smearing strawberry preserves
The day that I’ve gotten justice is the day he’ll get what he deserves
I’m manifesting my own death
Fantasizing taking my last breath
I can’t melt my favorite wax cubes because all they do is remind me of you
I can’t listen to my favorite song because all I hear when I listen is your sweet little voice singing along
His heart was in my wallet
I’m crying cause I called it
I wrap an arm around myself in attempts to find some solace but I’m missing my other half
I tell myself I know where I’m going but I’m scared to continue down this dark and narrow path
But I know I’ve got to be strong
I don’t want to be where I don’t belong
I swear these days are getting real long
I don’t like to admit when I’m wrong

On the 11th month,
the 11th day,
at the 11th hour,
Meagan wore her poppy
on the right side
at 11 O’clock,
just like her father,
John McCain
taught her.
Holding her
newborn girl Liberty
close to her—
and taking care
not to disturb
the many small flags
proudly fluttering—
she placed
another exactly
the same way
on his grave
just kissing the
white granite words
PRISONER OF WAR
LOVING HUSBAND
FATHER AND POPPA.