Echoes Below

Inelegant design, perhaps the stage will think it's mine. I wish to be rid of the physical and psychological exhaustion I put on myself. Love withers away, the pain is circumspect.  Inelegant design, what future did we pine for in our youthful days of abandon. Someone can tell me when I'm not overcome with emotion. Inelegant design, what of these presents we got each other. Do they carry much meaning outside of festive occasions? The wonder of life doesn't feel so special anymore. The dreams we had lost in our own respective conditions.  

  I am the source for your misery. The pathways of resentment slowly rising over when I lashed out. In a way I knew I was slowly being edged out of the equation. My frustrations built up and I had nowhere else to place them. But now we've made our peace. Brokered a deal which suits you best even if it pains me greatly that it came to this. I'm not the one for grand sweeping statements or sentiments. You've often criticised me for not doing things you want me to. I cannot physically make it happen and when it does, inwardly I'm given hell for it. Considerations must go both ways. The more you criticised, the more I felt I wasn't good enough. I guess you were hoping for the opposite effect. I am the source for your misery. The pain being involuntary. The more times the same bad memories brought up to shame had their desired effect. Words twisted beyond lives can mask. And all I ask is forgiveness. I live with a haunted past, things that I want to bury but come back to...