Mourning Ressurection

Every night I die...
every morning I am resurrected.

The King of my Castle
has become a figment of my
imagination...a mirage that
no longer exists...love is blind
and his cocaine laden mind
is now so real to me.

but I...
love him...he
needs me...if I
leave him...he will
die without me...

and so every night I
lay down my life as a
sacrifice...
every night he
murders me...he slaughters the woman
he found in me...and I
remind myself it's what I
need to do...because he
needs me...He needs me to...

cook his food when he demands...
he needs me to...
hold his head while he vomits on my leg...
he needs me to...
bathe him when he's been
smoking so much and drinking too
that he is
incoherent and has
no clue...
He needs me to...
be there for him to take out his anger...
when he can't get a hit...
and he's in danger of
going insane from the receptors in his brain...
telling him...
he
needs
more...
He needs me to...
be his personal whore...
an orgy of sorts...
me...him...and that monkey on his back...
his bag of weed and a fifth of yak...
see...I can't leave because...
he needs me...

**************

Then one night..
my blood spilled on the floor...
precious bodily fluids of his angel...
leaking from my ear...
my precious children on the
other side of the door...
and now to the left I can't hear...
migraine headaches plague me every day...

and that was the night
I was brave enough to say...

I need to live
more than he needs me...
the blinders came off and
I could finally see...
that if I didn't walk away...
he was going to
kill me...

and there would be no opportunity
for a morning resurrection...

just a funeral arrangement and a
lengthy benediction.