Brian’sPoems

Bitter at my love.

I cannot believe what I am relating is my own story. This cannot be my life. But it is, and it pains me. I never thought I would grow tired of the warm body next to me. I remember when it was so new and so nearly overwhelming. To hold her was to live. And now…now she is poisoning my heart.
Truthfully she hasn’t changed in the least. Her beauty is still evident in her face, her body, and her grace in these difficult times. The metamorphosis is within me.
Oh how I loathe this woman! Just breathing the same vapid air as her sickens me. I can barely stand the existence of our child, let alone fathom the idea of sleeping next to her.
I know there is no rationale for my feelings. Yes, I am afflicted with a horrendous disease. If the devil lives, it is in my cells.
I almost recall our blissful happiness, but it fades into dark at the very sight of our monstrous offspring. Our love was perfect, but my seed was sown in a demon valley. Together we produced a horrendous living thing that will not die but feeds on, nay devours, our once boundless love.
Now it is nearly gone. I blame her, my wife. How could she let such a creature grow inside her? Certainly I am not responsible for our hideous spawn.
Soon I will be no more, but not before the child takes all that I have. Dreams of the future have become nightmares of apocalyptic landscapes swept in human ashes. There was a time I counted myself fortunate, for not every man marries his true love. Yet such permanent ecstasy is not the privilege of a mortal man.