Ten percent of the bed left
Hanging off the edge with regrets
Called plain and predictable most days
Guess I’m not action packed in any way
Vault with half of my thoughts secure
Expressing everything causes blurring so omission is the cure
–
She says I believe she can’t do anything right
Any criticism is served with razor-sharp flaming knives
I look out of available windows on mute
Somehow worthless banter caught a groove now on a loop
Ended up as sticky situation smelling like poop
–
Deeper prayers before I abandon another bridge
God should I be alone because it’s easier than tightrope days with her
Have I made a mistake or is this just a bump in our road
I can’t sleep but she’s sleeping soundly while I run after breath, falling behind
–
First room, eggshells
Muddy eggshells
This will pass.
RawEmotionDough 