Our D-I-V-O-R-C-E?
Our husband is not fun. Thud smack, flop. There is no life in him. We remember when a little knife prick didn’t cause him to slump in an unsatisfying man heap on the floor. Perhaps it is a sympathy ploy as he struggles to play mind games with the little girl in his office. She would look very pretty in ropes, straining and crying out his name. He is a man.
Or has he lost his edge? Forgotten what it is to surrender to the darkness within him? To cry out in passion in the night? Maybe these last few weeks have left him soft and vulnerable. Unable to hold his own or hold back the crime in the city. Is he a man on the cusp of salvation or one posed on the brink of self-destruction? Does he seek one more than the other?
These thoughts are starting to bother our head. We will hunt him. See if he can still play the game. See if he has lost his edge or found it. We will sharpen the knives and wait for an opportunity to strike.
Game on.
Or has he lost his edge? Forgotten what it is to surrender to the darkness within him? To cry out in passion in the night? Maybe these last few weeks have left him soft and vulnerable. Unable to hold his own or hold back the crime in the city. Is he a man on the cusp of salvation or one posed on the brink of self-destruction? Does he seek one more than the other?
These thoughts are starting to bother our head. We will hunt him. See if he can still play the game. See if he has lost his edge or found it. We will sharpen the knives and wait for an opportunity to strike.
Game on.