Obituary

I detach from myself

And look down

At the grave of my marriage

And my deceased body

Wandering and lost

Like a ghost around it

Trying to sniff out

Some reassuring signs of life

But the grave is so dead

And dark and eerie

The mud sheeting it tightly 

Into a suffocating 

And foul-smelling box

Where there are only

Decaying remnants

Of destroyed dreams

Sinews and remains

Of a broken, bleeding heart

Scraps of shattered hopes

Tatters of necrosed love

And feelings that were

Never meant to blossom

Muggy and wet with 

Traumatic, throbbing tears

A carcass of a relationship

Left into skeleton and bones

Too soon transformed into a pathology.

There never was

A healthy, thriving bond

It had always been THIS diseased.

The illness had only grown with time

As I had numbed all sense of pain

Anesthsized myself from hurt

This colossal desensitization 

Had been the solution to survive this....

This joke of a relationship

That I couldn't even laugh at

And crying wasn't allowed freely.....

Drowning myself

Into a voluntary coma

Was the only way

To ventilate and keep alive

Except that each moment

I was involuntarily dying.

Everyone knew

But no one KNEW

You can't know

Unless you completely know

And the only way to know

Is to experience each hurt 

In every fraction of a second

That makes you asphyxiate.

What had made me stay

So long at the corpse of this relationship

that had no meaning whatsoever?

Was it my resilience?

My stubborn belief that this cannot happen to me on repeat?

My firm resolve that a little oxygenation of sweet, tender care could enliven it?

Was it the fear of finding myself lonely and lost once again?

Or perhaps the angst of the future unknown?

What was I doing staring at this grave

Long after the funeral prayers had been recited 

And the flowers of hope had wilted into dust.....

I stood there immobilized and powerless

As I saw myself float around

Like a crazy, thick-headed fool

Attempting all kinds of resuscitation

To blow life into dust

That would always remain a grave

Whose obituary had long been written

On a cold, bloody stone.