This Love Is No More
by Kay Ugwuzor
So this love is
No more the fantasies
No more about us
No more the item we were
Whatever that was
This love is
No more passions to fill the night
No more ‘baby, please hold me tight’
No more ecstasy rising from inside
Capturing moments with guilt aside
This love is
No more than silence here and there
No more than smoke hanging in air
No more than unsaid verses and lines
And your overflowing bag of lies
This love is
No more than the word
No more than spilt blood
No more than broken alabaster
Far from a happily ever after
So this love is No more
...
It wasn’t my fault, it was his. It has always been his. He pushed me, he put my back to the wall and I pulled the trigger. It had always been because of him; whenever I brushed my hair in front of the mirror it was because of him, when I snuck out of the house at night, it was because of him. When I went to the boutique two days ago, it was to get him this bright colored Gucci t-shirt that squeezed his body and brandished his broad chest. It was how he liked his girls too – tight and well fitting. So when I started to wear tight fitting trousers that made me feel like my bum was poking out of them, it was all for him. Yet he will never love me back. He will come home on nights, reeking of alcohol and female perfume then he would push me out of the door way and stagger into the sitting room to crash on the sofa where I had laid all night waiting for him, mooning over the times where we laid on this same sofa with my head burrowed into his chest and his hand foraging through the locks of my hair. He would not talk to me, why would he not talk to me? Why would he make me move in with him when he would not talk to me? Why would he even exist if he wasn’t going to let me talk to him? He told me I was weak, that I couldn’t give him all he wanted from a woman anymore. He said even my cooking was horrible. I cried, when he left last week on his ‘business’ trip, I sought for comfort, for his hand to clothe me under the sheets of our bed yet all I found was an empty pillow by my side. He thought I wouldn’t find out but my friends told me. But like all men would, he tried to save face even when I saw him, stark naked, on top of her, stark naked too, on the floor of the hotel room where we had had our honeymoon. He put it back on me, he said my constant nagging had pushed him away from me and he wanted a woman who could still satisfy him and not complain all the time. How was I a nagging wife? I just asked him some questions. He never answers me anyway. Where had I gone wrong? When did I put too much paint on this my beautiful picture that I botched it? Maybe it was when I went searching in his room this morning. In a case in his wardrobe was where I found it. Black and cold, death was cold. This thing carried death in the form of a small fast metal. I had never used a gun before. My knees wobbled and my hands trembled as I pointed the gun at him. He said I was weak, that I couldn’t do anything. He said I was a woman and women were weak. I wasn’t weak, I could do something and what I did was pull the trigger, again and again and again. I saw the three holes that ruined the Gucci shirt. It is like my hand is glued to the gun now. So you see? Wasn’t it his fault that he died? His own blood formed a pool around him; it permeated the grey carpet and formed a dark brown. From his mouth and the three holes in his chest, he bled lying on his back like he was a fountain. He was dead before I called you, even deader before you came. Now you’re telling me I have to go to jail because I killed him? I am not willing to live without him. If I try to I’ll die anyway. So I’m pointing the gun to my head, it wouldn’t leave my hand. There is no use trying to plead with me. I’m going to die already, what does it matter if it is by a gun or in jail? I cannot live without him. I cannot, I cannot, I can….
-Kay Ugwuzor
7428E6BE
...
Read and share if you like It. Comments are great So tell me what you think.
So this love is
No more the fantasies
No more about us
No more the item we were
Whatever that was
This love is
No more passions to fill the night
No more ‘baby, please hold me tight’
No more ecstasy rising from inside
Capturing moments with guilt aside
This love is
No more than silence here and there
No more than smoke hanging in air
No more than unsaid verses and lines
And your overflowing bag of lies
This love is
No more than the word
No more than spilt blood
No more than broken alabaster
Far from a happily ever after
So this love is No more
...
It wasn’t my fault, it was his. It has always been his. He pushed me, he put my back to the wall and I pulled the trigger. It had always been because of him; whenever I brushed my hair in front of the mirror it was because of him, when I snuck out of the house at night, it was because of him. When I went to the boutique two days ago, it was to get him this bright colored Gucci t-shirt that squeezed his body and brandished his broad chest. It was how he liked his girls too – tight and well fitting. So when I started to wear tight fitting trousers that made me feel like my bum was poking out of them, it was all for him. Yet he will never love me back. He will come home on nights, reeking of alcohol and female perfume then he would push me out of the door way and stagger into the sitting room to crash on the sofa where I had laid all night waiting for him, mooning over the times where we laid on this same sofa with my head burrowed into his chest and his hand foraging through the locks of my hair. He would not talk to me, why would he not talk to me? Why would he make me move in with him when he would not talk to me? Why would he even exist if he wasn’t going to let me talk to him? He told me I was weak, that I couldn’t give him all he wanted from a woman anymore. He said even my cooking was horrible. I cried, when he left last week on his ‘business’ trip, I sought for comfort, for his hand to clothe me under the sheets of our bed yet all I found was an empty pillow by my side. He thought I wouldn’t find out but my friends told me. But like all men would, he tried to save face even when I saw him, stark naked, on top of her, stark naked too, on the floor of the hotel room where we had had our honeymoon. He put it back on me, he said my constant nagging had pushed him away from me and he wanted a woman who could still satisfy him and not complain all the time. How was I a nagging wife? I just asked him some questions. He never answers me anyway. Where had I gone wrong? When did I put too much paint on this my beautiful picture that I botched it? Maybe it was when I went searching in his room this morning. In a case in his wardrobe was where I found it. Black and cold, death was cold. This thing carried death in the form of a small fast metal. I had never used a gun before. My knees wobbled and my hands trembled as I pointed the gun at him. He said I was weak, that I couldn’t do anything. He said I was a woman and women were weak. I wasn’t weak, I could do something and what I did was pull the trigger, again and again and again. I saw the three holes that ruined the Gucci shirt. It is like my hand is glued to the gun now. So you see? Wasn’t it his fault that he died? His own blood formed a pool around him; it permeated the grey carpet and formed a dark brown. From his mouth and the three holes in his chest, he bled lying on his back like he was a fountain. He was dead before I called you, even deader before you came. Now you’re telling me I have to go to jail because I killed him? I am not willing to live without him. If I try to I’ll die anyway. So I’m pointing the gun to my head, it wouldn’t leave my hand. There is no use trying to plead with me. I’m going to die already, what does it matter if it is by a gun or in jail? I cannot live without him. I cannot, I cannot, I can….
-Kay Ugwuzor
7428E6BE
...
Read and share if you like It. Comments are great So tell me what you think.
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