Growing Anxiety

I trace the heavy silence as you drift into your sleep,
While I am drowning in the secrets you choose to keep.
You paint a world of fiction, a habitual, practiced liar,
Feeding me ash while you dance around a flickered fire.
I am the one who stitches wounds, the constant, patient wife,
Ignoring how your malice carves the edges of my life.

I gave you grace the first time, carving out a space in life
To hold your hand and soothe you as you drifted into sleep.
I played the role of savior, the devoted, trusting wife,
Forgetting that your honesty was something you couldn't keep.
You feared the truth’s exposure, the burning of the fire,
And felt no shame for lying, just the panic of the liar.

I recall the night you whispered, playing the role of liar,
Confessing to a betrayal while I walked through the fire.
I comforted your conscience, chasing away your sleep,
Believing in the humor of a man who was my life.
But apologies are hollow when they are all you keep;
You broke the vows we gathered when you took me as your wife.

Now the cycle restarts, and once again, I am the wife,
Trapped in the web spun by a cold and calculated liar.
You spoke of unknown faces, the secrets that you keep,
While pointing to coworkers you swore were just the fire
Of passing conversation, disconnected from our life.
But I know who they are—I see them while I watch you sleep.

My mind is haunted by the shades that visit in your sleep.
"Who is the attractive one?" I wonder, playing wife,
While you weave new deceptions through the fabric of our life.
Each word is just a weapon forged by a persistent liar,
Turning every gentle touch into a scorching fire.
How many more of these small deaths are you going to keep?

I am exhausted by the promises you swear you’ll keep,
Listening to your rhythm as you settle into sleep.
I am burning in the wreckage of your self-inflicted fire,
Wearing this tired mask, this performance of a wife.
I am tired of being broken, of being managed by a liar,
Tired of the erosion of the meaning of my life.

You keep the chaos quiet, unaware of my internal life,
While I wait for the numbness, for the secrets that you keep.
You are the architect of pain, the ever-constant liar,
And I am just the ghost who watches you descend to sleep.
Forgiveness is a burden for a suffocating wife,
Who stands alone and shivering beside your dying fire.