The End of Illusion

Too many live like this. Dedicated to the End of Illusion.

Broken lives

eyes accusing

“It’s your fault
things are like this!”

blinking tears seared
by the heat of
consuming anger

whispered consumption
of truths long uncovered
lies hidden by the
other’s averted

“You are to blame for
my shortcomings!”

shouts steal love
from spirits mottled
by blame

cursed years spent
in disfunctional comfort

“There has not been
one happy year
in all of our time together!”

a year or five
a decade or more
of memories

bound one to the other
in fear
of being alone

the dark soothing of
pinches in the night
kicks under covers
and sleeping groans

settle daily arguments by
nightly recrimination

love-making a distant
fucking being
a more apt description

flesh pounding in the dark
lips pursed
eyes turned away
only touching at the point
of friction

“Make me cum, G-d damn it!”

“Fuck me hard. Fuck me…”

Grunting groans
and silent moans
climaxing shattered dreams
by the release of
sexual heat

silently rolling over to sleep
and dreaming
of another’s arms.


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