Purgatory

I left bemused.
Unsure of who I was or what to do.
There were thoughts;
were they you or of you
or me or offing me
I'll never know.
I will
never know.

I think I saw you by the stairs.
Was there a voice or a choice
or a reason by which
there was something of note
         to compare?
Maybe just
the purgatory of your words
versus the odd science of my actions
were the ends to my means
by meaning of my undoing
at your hand, around my heart
with my head under your chest.
I suffocated
in the ups and downs,
pushed aside
by your rights and wrongs
and compressed into depression
with a stress among regression
being folded into
your unholiest matrimonial quilt.
Maybe it's all I know.
But all I knew
was maybe.

I was asleep by your side
-once-
for four years
of death within life.
I saw the rise and fall
in your breasts with your every breath
taking place
in the greatest mistake we'd ever undertake.
But did you know?
I think you knew.
What was in-between
was never quite the same
as being within the middle
of everything we believed;
we weren't but what it seemed.

To have life both ways is to have it no way.