Sweet God,
     I am trapped again.
  Frozen in place by your words
      and aching.
   My eyes are stuck wide open,
             dry and glazed over,
      but they can still make out the shape of  you,
   the movement of your swollen lips
           talking about nothing
      as if you had something to say.
   The swirling ribbons of color
         dancing on my marble skin
     make an uncanny match
  to what’s beneath-
       rivers of blood,
           stilled for the time being,
  waiting for your permission
              to flow
                 to feed my heart.
   I am so tired of being the martyr.
Being right yet being punished
      has lost it’s magic.
  Now it has become tiring.
       My limbs burn in their stillness,
   while my mind reels,
           feverishly trying to
     combat the solitude raining down upon me
       decipher the foreign babble that trips from your mouth
           balance my love for you and that for myself.
    I slightly shift balance from one foot to another
             hoping to catch 
       a bit of the warm ,whirling breeze on my cheek.
  A reminder of springtime
            in my purgatory of winter.
     So simple the solutions could be,
           so simple that they complicate themselves
      and overload your poor brain,
                   which is too busy brooding
            to awaken to truth and trust
                          and love.
    And all of this for you.
        You who hexed me in to begin with.
  You who have the power to hold me in place
             with a curse or a kiss.
   You who, despite my pride, holds my soul in your palm.
    



  


    

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