Bare and Bent

I got your letter this morning, got your letter all right. It claimed clarity, but came in screaming and I was soaked clean through. How could we ever let it get this far? To leave us nothing, dear, but sickness; me with mine and you with yours. It's funny because I promised myself that this would never happen again. I'd been warned and I'd been told, but it's these moments of clarity that cripple me most. You said I was tiresome, with heels dug deep, reciting my lines all tarred in make-up and glazed in light.

Every car crash, every misstep, every word
(Now that it's over, should I thank you for that, dear?)