Skulking Sociopaths And The Woman That Loves Them Poem by grace mariner

It's strange that you do not live in my waking hours anymore.
It's not that you aren't always lurking in the shadows,
ready to strike at my most disadvantaged parts,
my most disadvantaged thoughts.
It ended with such a loud thud it should be dead.
But it seems to exist still, within those moments of despair.
I want it all to end and fade into obscurity,
where it belongs to rot and be consumed by those things that feed off such carion.
But I continue to resuscitate you, re animating what lives no more,
You were my being of light and air.
Elegant and decadent, your very presence lifted my sagging spirit,
my sagging heart.
But you now skulk and slither through my world of light, keeping close to the walls as to not be seen when you decide to strike.
And that venom is like heroin to me my love.
It courses through my vein like a lightening bolt,
firing my brain, sparking that memory.
And those memories, not always sad at their inception,
always have a sad ending, as love stories do more often than not.
My drug, my love, my elegant giant is reduced to what he currently is,
succumbing to his sociopathy as I succumb to my greatest failing.
And as much as I wish you could have stayed with me, I wish even more that you would leave me alone.