I do whatever I can
to avoid the burning frustration
the growing irritation
that is you and him
when you are drunk
when you are fighting
your swaying feet-slurred words
the toxins leeching out from your skin
into the very structure of this house
and I am so tired
so very bone-tired
of pretending
that this house
is "broken-but perfect"
"We may not be perfect, but we have love"
I do not believe that
Not in the slightest
It is just an excuse
So that you
Can rationalize
The fucked up
Events
That you allow to happen
In this house of horrors
YOU ARE READING
Thought Spiraling
PoésieFree verse poetry about Anxiety, anxiety attacks, depression, insecurity, dealing with trauma, and dysfunctional relationships.
