Eggshell Salad

Ten percent of the bed left

Hanging off the edge with regrets

Called plain and predictable most days

Guess I’m not action packed in any way

Vault with half of my thoughts secure

Expressing everything causes blurring so omission is the cure

She says I believe she can’t do anything right

Any criticism is served with razor-sharp flaming knives

I look out of available windows on mute

Somehow worthless banter caught a groove now on a loop

Ended up as sticky situation smelling like poop

Deeper prayers before I abandon another bridge

God should I be alone because it’s easier than tightrope days with her

Have I made a mistake or is this just a bump in our road

I can’t sleep but she’s sleeping soundly while I run after breath, falling behind

First room, eggshells

Muddy eggshells

This will pass.

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