You were at fault
Still, I apologized.
Ever late for home,
Still I opened the door.
To other arms you loitered,
Still to mine I welcomed you.
To everything except I, you left,
Still I believed you’d return.
From the whores grip and gloat,
From the drunkards bottle and bait,
From addictions wander and waste,
From the gamblers pool and pest.
But You didn’t; delving instead deeper,
piece upon piece, year upon year,
You tore from me; you took from me.
But for how much longer?
Must I lose, must I wait?
No. I am damned no more!