All the Kings Men
I wake up in the morning,
and for a brief second
I have forgotten;
I inhale,
look around at what was once my life,
everything looks the same,
but nothing is as it was,
and I remember.
When you were all that I had,
you decided to leave my bed
for hers,
without saying a single word.
I was not worth a good-by
or even a deceptive,
yet, momentarily comforting,
good-night.
You simply slipped away,
under cover of darkness,
and boarded the jet plane;
which took you away from me
and into her waiting arms,
where you found the words to be kind
and complimentary,
lacking the harsh criticism
which apparently only poured from lips.
Later, after the days, weeks,
and months had passed,
you told me she was better,
she treated you better
than I ever had.
I cried out,
that the ground might swallow me whole,
bringing an end
to the most inconceivable agony
I had ever known,
but that did not happen.
Instead,
you continued
to sing her praise
as the miles drew us further into the night;
and I realized that nothing had been as I had thought.
Can it be
that I have been felled,
by a beast I thought deplorable,
and thus inconsequential,
I scream out in anguish;
how can any of this be true?
She relished in her tells,
of having bed
a thousand souls,
whose names she had never known;
and of having sacrificed her young
before the darkest altars,
seeking favor from her kin —
this is what has destroyed my home?
It cannot be that it was for her
that you left my bed;
my sorrow is inexhaustible,
as are my questions,
I do not understand?
The words slowly drip from your mouth,
as if perhaps you think,
if they can go unuttered
all may still be well.
More days, weeks, and months pass;
finally, you proclaim
the stories have come to an end,
there appears to be nothing left to be said,
and neither your tears or mine
seem to matter.
Your desire and my despair,
have destroyed everything
which I thought I knew;
your beast has won
and I am lost.
My house of cards has crumbled
and all of the king’s men,
and all of king’s horses,
cannot put it back together again.
The pieces of my life
lay scattered about me
and what had once painted a picture
of our life;
now looks like a confetti
of brightly colored pieces
without rhythm or rhyme.
None of this is as I wanted it to be,
I was not asked,
nor given an opportunity to object;
you simply chose this for me,
and I have yet to understand why.
I find no reason to go on,
I believe you feel as I do;
yet somewhere in the darkness,
air forces itself through our lungs,
chocking us with life,
obliging us to accept a breath
we do not want.
I go to bed at night,
and for a brief second
I forget;
I exhale,
look around at what was once my life,
everything looks the same,
but nothing is as it was,
and I remember.
~ Cristina Jill Mosqueda ~
