Wastrel.

I have been recluse from here for some time. Work has devoured me whole between shop work, proposals, problems and triumphs.  My waking hours burn away as the pillar of fire which is my trade of work took me like a slave.

Home life has no bright points, like a dark star with its own field of woes I am strung high in a panoply of stars blackened and unknown. No ferries to my heart, no onlookers to point to the strange anomaly which is my savage heart.

I have stopped looking for my wife’s intimacy as she is seldom interested in me short of my janitorial abilities around the home. In doing so I protect myself against the sea of rejection which she is. There is no question about the probability of how or when I will be upset anymore. There is no point and I take my foothold in silence and refuge in that I can’t hurt my own heart more than she has.

She does not respect me and in this I will not wear my wedding band any further.