And I watched him do it again.
I thought I was in control.
I thought I had something in reserve.
Like a film in which
you hesitate to invest …
yourself, your emotion.
Breathe and watch and wait
for the peaceful, connected ending
one hopes will be the beginning.
The creation of something,
of everything.
I clawed my way out before,
broken nails and bloody heart,
cursing myself and him alike.
Convinced I was only a voyeur,
this time, I watched to the end,
unaware until now
that I was still part of the plot.
This end is terrifying,
and more than I can bear.
Somebody lend a hand,
pull me out
and turn it off.
© 2007 Marcy Stoeckel
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