I once was a desperate man. A desperate man, yes, I was.
Until I realized that desperate was as desperate does and that it would only bring me more because.
Because my situation, you see, was such that — a man suddenly without a home. A man suddenly without his children. A man suddenly without most everything then, made me useless and unable to do what I wished I could have done, to do what was left so desperately left undone, but I couldn’t because of she.
She held the rope tied tight around my neck.
She wrote the narrative of my days back then.
She decided everything to my dismay.
She is not a projection of my own dark mind. Not upon which a therapist would make their dime, not on me, oh no, oh no.
Yet, she. Still she. Sadly so, and upon this wretched earth I go with barely a day’s reprieve from the worst of her!
I’m done with SHE, I call her IT! I rid her gleely with my spit!
Yet she was IT, one time — a time very long gone I scarcely know. A sliver of the memory remains yet still, remains upon this hill of memories lost and barely gained, brings back, I must admit not just a little pain…
My heart does yearn for those better years. The time I tenderly held it, she, or her — my sweet, oh so dear.
Oh, so dear….