Waves of depressed thoughts
Drown and kill my past joy.
Oblivious, he is to my recent state.
A living dead of flesh, no emotions
To call me human.
And as he sleeps side by side,
Spooning against my silhouetted form as close
As my own shadow makes love to me
In the mixture of sun and shade,
His skin touches my skin
As an insect would,
crawling with a cold, steady walk.
I am his concubine
A slave to his fists and resolutions.
I am imprisoned not behind bars,
But by a deep abyss from where
I do not have enough strength to swim.
I am a mannequin,
My hands molded to my sides straight as arrows.
Weak in transition,
Change – I do not dare.
And so the cycle completes, then begins again.
For my soul is his – a thread on a spool of resitution.
And then, like every night before,
I close my eyes. Bite my lip.
Tremble, yet enough for him to feel;
And sleep quietly next to my enemy
Of which I gave up the right to be that
of husband.
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