Better This Way Poem by Leah Ayliffe

I don't want to confess the unwarranted jealousy inside.
It makes no sense after the storm and rage and fire. After the calm, the stage of peace and revival.
There is no sense in the heaviness of my heart with one minute on the clock, and the lightness of a feather with the next ticking mark.
I'm much too exhausted to concern my deepest subconscious with old endless games. He was my illusìon of happiness, even love for a time. My illusion of the light, the moon.
Then came the tidal wave of destruction in truth. My death and ruin. 
I sing the forgiveness tune.
Somehow still working his way through my senses as if it were all new.
To take a step back it's easy to see the simple picture, we're all just trying to figure "It" out. Whatever it may be. We get thoughtless when lost on the path. We can't see the truth or how to be kind during the panic.
Is there such a thing as beginning again?
It feels as though it's happening. Clouds parting. Sun or artificial light shining on the city.
How it used to be, back when everything was good. He came back after all, after death, after he walked the walk of no return. A ghost that I'm still trying to see. A ghost that I'm trying to figure out if I believe to be here in my world, my reality.
I laugh because it's more or less the same.
The lady of the night will be here soon to subdue his insatiable desire.
It's better this way.
It's real.
It's all there is and it's nothing to take note or think about as I sit here taking note and thinking about it.
The trouble is I'm sex crazed with no good man to call.
An old flame walks my boarders, my walls, my home.
I inhale the wisdom of the past and exhale temptation as he walks to the door for another.
It's better this way.
Hot tea. Cool mind.
All his women around so the fire dies inside.
Any woman knows the truth of falling into the shallow waters of the familiar, warm and easy to float like a daydream.
Are you still a fool if you know? Maybe more so, I whisper to my heart.
Don't succumb. There's too much potential for that locked up box of feelings to come undone. All the torture and sadness behind a lock hidden, wrapped up in pretty ribbons and bows.
You know better this time.
It's better.
I think we're better from the illness called the past, the chains of who we used to be.
Are we friends then?
He said it was better that way, for longevity sake.
But if that were true, why did we crash and burn like the end of the world before?
No use in wondering.
I'll be I.
And he, he...
Whoever that may be.
I don't think it's my business to ever really know.