Imbalanced Equality

I walked into the house,

with a million memories flooding my heart.

I felt the empty air fill my lungs,

forcing every iota of my heart to ache for more.

I sensed his faded cologne inside me,

the one he emanated on our wedding night.

I touched his writings on the wall,

every word screaming out for his wife to help.

I staggered in our dim lit room,

can't truly deny I liked the absence of light.

I looked down at our bed,

now a resting place for his broken soul.

I heard his voice again,

softer at that moment -- persuasive, perhaps?

I knew he's asking for me to come,

join his realm of dead exactly the way he did -- dive deep in our pool.

I should've listened to him,

not when his absence called me closer but when his presence pushed me away.

I still wonder what could've I done better,

to win his trust at least enough for him to confide in me.

I am his real culprit,

even though it was a psychopathic mistress who raped him.

No. It is I and the law of my country,

the law that assumes only a man can rape a woman and not the other way around.