The worst torture is watching you, my enemy, my friend, my something else, fall into a darkness I cannot breach with a handful of perfectly formed words, my clumsy poetry, my adulterous dedications, not this lava I attest is my soul given freely. The pumpkin bread, summer berry bundt cake, an envelope of Starbucks gift cards, old Shutterfly jpegs… These are meaningless in your windowless world where you move from Point A to Point B with the perfunctory stillness of a gutted gutless pig. She made you who you are, I should be glad, I should piss on your grave, delight in your suffering, rub your face in the bed you lay with her, that faithless whore you chose over me, why did you choose her over me I don’t care that she was your wife, that you were honoring your marriage, it ended anyway, so what’s the point?
I’ve felt your naked body pressing on my back, your shaking hands pulling me further into the house of the damned, “Please don’t leave me with her, please understand, I can’t, she—” the light in your eyes go out the moment she projectiled her barroom brawls and theatrical promises in the circle jerk that used to be our worship.
I am running out of words to hold you in this polite society you’ve put me in.