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I Cracked the Cream Cheese Through Your Whine

I Cracked The Cream Cheese Through Your Whine

Wining And Dining    we savoured together and we still share five beautiful children sweet 
                 as ‘sugar iced cinnamon buttermilk honey and all’ but the spinning trough was 
too deep for your prickly shallow mind for the toxic consumption those grated
               minced words rasped on days evenings and nights and turned into that moaning 
groaning eternity far from little deaths under the duvet’s cotton sheets turning 
                 from feathers to rags to fragmented scrappy torn tattered reality from dreams 

Numbed in numberless routines and pretences we lost our jackpot and the wine
                  jugs and the pitchers cast increasingly larger shadows imbibed and consumed
the poisoned chalice held us together for far too long a while when your middle
                  life's whining spun out of control when the whimpering and droning you chose 
as your weapon shackled as a poisonous larder corroded eating me up eating me down
                  one fungal bitchy bite at a time one malicious thick tongue sprouting abrasion

Everything you alleged was my fault the wine the dine and surely your whine
                   and all the destructive fermentation from mellow beauty to fast rotten desert
Our home our castle transformed into a rocky fort with spikes and razors sharp
            wires a dungeon with no easy escape from the absence of cheese dinners and the
acid of blue tangy veins in our Roquefort lost the balance from butyric ‘charm’ towards
                 the endeavour of saving some love in face of purulent craving caving our cave 

You did not pass me the cheese but I took it and regained agency control over
                my life and okay you fleeced me in the process hired a cantankerous dyspeptic 
lawyer contaminated our children spread rumours disgrace and hatred with slick
                    seeming impunity before everything came out in the wash in the sifting and
shifting and then me treading like a frog in the milk pot churning and spurning from
       milk to butter produced enough cheese I could stand on to reject your vicious venom

Time is a great healer and so is cheese for that matter and I will admit that my
              life still has the odd hole like an 'Emmental’ from the mountains but the essence 
source is surrounded by beauty of life vitality now and a shiny path up those hills heights
          and valleys I conjoin share with my new lover companion wife soul-mate and friend 
who moans and groans together with me under different stars with no wine and 
           no whine at all but in praise complimenting complement respect kindness and love

You the whiner have not moved on I believe although almost a decade has passed 
                        in which plenty of hurts and injuries maybe the odd application of honesty 
responsibility introspection and acknowledgment could have imbued your own 
             cheese making process but instead you remain the angelic victimising victim with
walkers and stalkers matching your hawker’s helplessness and they fondle your
        soulless heart and the plastic **** you had made at Harley Street as a parting shot for 
and from your whining Ego

05th August 2016

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