After the bachelorette

Nope, I was married. He called it off after the bachelorette.
With no sign of remorse, friend of thunder, brother of the storm, the menial task of ignorance.

I stood there, frozen. Melting in my own ice. Cold. Warm. Absolute. Stale. Over. Out.
Bitterness, expanding. Faith, shrinking.

I felt like a collection of broken glass. Cut. Bleeding every time I tried to fix it. Only waiting for it to shatter. Again.

He was a really good stripper. He stripped his soul away. Left with nothing to lose. He stripped me off my dignity, I lost. The only stone I treasured.

I was married. He called it off after that bachelorette. I walk now. In cracks. Untimely coordinated. I'm now glad he left then. I killed our child. No trace. Goodbye.