Putting the pen to the paper
tottering around an angulated circle
I try each day harder
to forgive myself
for yet again forgiving her
Not taking for granted
either bliss or the breath
As natural and rid of effort
as both were to me once
Until I heaved away my life
at her feet in a blink
As she strutted away in smug glee
walking all over me
Now I sit here counting the angles
three hundred and sixty to measure
Falling short by five to make it
an unlived circle of a year
Five too many for me to go
round and round in circles
Committing the same inanities,
same blunders all over
Tormenting myself
in the name of loving her
How am I going to ever
forgive myself?
For getting lost in the circle
that keeps me trapped
sans a tangent of hope
at escaping
myself.
Commentaires