Fading bloom

I don’t want to get out of bed, I don’t want to move, I don’t want to know I have nothing to look forward to, no goal, no prize, no reason for getting up.

I’ll just lay here, curled up in a ball, fading….

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Time flies…

Time is flying by, days become weeks, weeks become months, months years, you know the drill. Nothing much changes. Theres highs, theres lows. The same money worries, the same triggers, the same red zones, the same regrets, the same fears, the same arguments, the same hurt.

I miss you..

I’m starved of you, devoid of you, left cold and numb and I miss you.

Not touch, no stroke can evoke you, you’ve gone. Are you hiding? Tucked yourself away deep inside, waiting? Scared of showing up, scared of light.

I miss you, I miss the excitement, I miss the surrender, I miss the longing, the sparks the waves.

Will I ever see you again? Not where I am, you don’t come here. Here it’s cold, flat, safe.

You visit in dreams, different scenarios, different people. Your hot breathe against my neck, lips searching, your arms pulling me to dark corners, reaching inside me, awaking.

I am alive, I am radiating, I am moaning and weak and tingling with pleasure, desires. You’re here.

But when I wake I feel you fading, leaving nothing but grief and another hole to bury you in, to cover and forget you were there.

I miss you…

Smooth

Im smooth, my being worn down by the constant ebb & flow of the seas of change.

I’m smooth, rolled about the seabed by the current of emotional turmoil

Im smooth…

I love you.?

At 4am this morning he came back to bed,

‘I love you’ he whispered into my ear as he pressed himself into my back, his arm tucking around my waist,

just as he did 18years ago….

Faking it…

Sometimes I feel like I’m faking it, that I’m so numb from the constant barrage of red zones I know he cannot help, that when things are ok the feeling of longing & love is just pretend, just a feeling I have to make myself feel, apart from nothing, because I do love him, more than anything or I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t stay, wouldn’t want to help him.  I feel sometimes its hard to switch these emotions, hard to get out of the waiting for an explosion, take it to the chest, ignore the words he shouts mind set and get into the he’s my husband, he loves me, lets be lovers mindset, like I have to put it on, put on a feeling of passion and longing, but really I’m guarded, hurt, remembering the words he flings in anger, twat, cunt, bitch, seeing the hate in his flat black eyes, waiting for it to happen over and over again.

I think I’m numb, numb and faking it.

Or is that just marriage anyway?

 

Flirting with fire…

A flame creeps at the edges, stoking its felicitous fingers into your safe & secure world.

It has shape, a shape you know.

You’re entranced by its passion as it licks, slow & intense.

Tracing the edges of shadows as it tries to sweep across your being.

Its trying to ignites a spark that can burn your world, you must not let it catch.

Scars still tight & thin, you’d snuffed it out, extinguished it before, seen it die, go cold.  Relief and sadness.

Ignore the flickering, the desire to touch the flame, to run your fingers through it, to feel the intensity, the pleasures, the pain.

it will all end in ashes..