Sickened love

​He is, my greatest and only habitual addiction.

But I am not his....
​
He voyages on the whims of white clouds and dust
​shaken from the Devils hooves.
​My cries mistaken for rain on this fogged and 
befriended window yet again. It shares of its cracks and
​breaking that mimic my fragmented heart.
My beautiful youth shown in this windows reflection
​many years. An older more regretful
​face reflects in reply this evening, as I wait to see
​the dust clouds that trails behind his return.

And there he is once again.
​
Everything I love, in one body, returning to
​the surviving fool. I, the dependent one that keeps
comfort and necessity near and this mirage of marriage,
married. I am the wife that wears the ring, sporting
the jester's hat. Vowed in chains that wraps
​its strength around my blackened finger. He will never
​let me leave, he has promised....and I have not
​the will to abandon him as he does me.

​I have found love within misery and
​abandonment within need.... I hold on to what
days belong to me and nights when my
​hands find not emptiness, but loves fond requests
​from the purse of absence. 
I serve him my granted heart and pleading words
on a mirrored platter, but he eats of it and 
spits out another lie between his saddening sorry's
​of meant words and family photos.
My sickened love is my own enemy and
my physical heart must find death to part from this
everything of mine. My frailty and fight lives to lose
another day..and I ?.... I will allow it to do so.
May death part us and my love restored to its proper,
no matter the introduction. And still, I have yet to see,
​in fear of its depth, if for me, such a hope is even possible....