Crack the Skye

***

It rained last night. The wind knocked out the power at the site. The lights didn’t want to come back on.

Today, its was snowing and tossing hail the size of baby spit. The wipers worked overtime.

I held my held up during the dark times. The fluctuating stability between wanting to function and needing to.

I know what I am. I know Hell is temporary. I know it’ll be over soon.

I know this because it is true. I wish it wasn’t true.

Step by step I walk away, but I can still feel her and hear her. I can see her self-interest explode my world.

And there’s not much I can do. And she wonders why I’m “hateful.”

There’s only so much the male psyche can take before it cracks. Before the traces of the past are annihilated and fused into a new personality.

Minute by minute, action by action, this is the case.

The fabulous disaster is beyond my control. I am only as strong as my society. And my society is weak.

Piece by piece, man by man, it will reap the crop it sowed into us. The pathetic men, their molds broken and left in the gutters, blowing down city streets past the lost forms of those left behind. The “independent” women. The children of single mothers. The betas. The omegas. The lost and the purposely confused.

The hard part of change is changing. The easy part is living.

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