Taunting The Memories

Taunting and trivial..
He was there again,
him and I
the conversation
again.

Talking
before sleep hits,
Words,twist inside.

'Disappointed'
'Embarrassed'

'YOU DID NOT'
'YOU DID NOT'
'YOU DID NOT'

No, I did not
But you...
you did.
Over and over
again.
You did.

Voice outside sleep
is strong.

I stand up.
I face him.
I tell him.
Screaming silent words.

Silent now.
Heart racing.
Tears falling.
Hands clenching.

Wishing to be somewhere else
Someone else

Wishing for sleep
and silence
and sense.

He does not hear.
can not hear.
Never hears.
He is not there.

He is here.
Stuck.
Deeply piereced
inside the fragments of thought.

Inside the mess of memories
The mess of me.

Destruction

He broke her passion in a few moments.
He just snapped it.
Massacred it.
Shredded it.
Kicked the pieces away.
Sitting inside her fragile shell,
the muted harsh rant glanced off her;
she shifted slightly and the roaring venom pierced her very core;
her very heart;
her.

The shell began to crack.
Slowly at first,
a thin spidery line,
shuddering and shaking into a fragmented jagged split,
which split again,
over and over
leaving a sharp gaping wound
exposing the delicate centre
nestled deep within.

Walking inside muted corridors of blankness,
she stumbled home.
She stumbled being a mother and a wife.
She stumbled being her.
She stumbled, but she managed to stand - -

almost.

Viciously, convincingly,
the darkness fell around her.
It smothered her.
She could not breathe and she could not reach.
It choked her and he tightened his autonomous grip.
Succombing into her way out, she no longer stumbled:
-she fell,

hard and crashing and alone.

She fell into oceans of coolness as she drank.
She fell into waves of numbing air as she swallowed,
and reached, and found,
and swallowed some more.

Smooth and circular pebbles.

The world whirled around her head,
lifted her body,
balanced her blood and there she lay in a new and beautiful heaven
of calm and silence and peace.

No voices
no pain
no passion

no God.