we've reached that painful stage

where she can't do nothing right

life's all shouting glare and fume

but for me its an unequal fight


sorry, but I can't take it anymore

she's wearing me out to a thread

the urge to kill her daily corrosive

wish to God she'd just drop dead


something occurred in her mind

hormonal changes kill older cells

where age-related issues turned

a home into a purgatory of hells


I need bold intervention of sorts

something drastic from outside

a win on the lottery, some third

party, a relative who lately died


so we drift on no rudders steer

not any compass or map or clue,

she ignores me now her hate is

open to all and sundry to view


yet I don't despair retain hope

expecting nothing still I yearn

for tokens of weakness, decay,

natural causes or else I'll burn


in the cellar rests number one

the second pushed over a cliff

doesn't know how lucky she is

from now it's when and not if


I dream of the knife, blood, acid

flames burning off that red hair

if only she'd not reduced me to

life in this damned wheelchair



◄ Binned

Carpet Burns ►


<Deleted User> (18980)

Fri 5th Feb 2021 20:23

I like this sort of black humour...I assume it's humour Simon.

I plot all the time about leaving my wife but I know I never will. Still, it's good to have an interest.

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