As I lay next to you, unable to dream, incapable of slowing my racing thoughts; I am once again condemned to the feeling of disconnection. In spite of your gentle touch gliding over my arm, regardless of your whispers in declaration of undying love, it’s of no solace and slight consequence. The memory of your laughter filling my empty soul is fading as each moment passes. I’ve consumed your once vibrant essence and replaced it with pain, for this I am deeply sorry my love.
I am vacant and unable of breathing out the very love that you have allowed me to breathe in. With each gracious exhale; you’ve withered inside, each day just a bit more, and I have thoughtlessly reveled in your slaughter. The words that now fall onto these pages are an agonizing glimpse into the clay that I mold.
Slicing away from the spinning wheel, a quick smooth cut detaches commitment; a new tiny incision eliminates empathy and compassion, the pressure of my palm pushing down the remaining elements of the fading memory of love. Like the suppression of what I once felt for you. Fragments of our union plaster the walls from ceiling to floor, more pieces collect upon my uncaring face, and the remaining will be collected from the floor to begin the next sculpture. I am doomed to repeat this process again and again and again and again….
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