entropy

She doesn't try hard anymore.
I think she knows I don't like her cooking.

I don't know why I don't compliment her more.
Some nights, I know she's glowing
If I let it slip and ask for seconds.

She's like a child,
like a dog.
and it's so awful,
and it's so sad.

I don't know if she's sick,
or I made her sick.

We're both sick -
we're sick.
In the evenings,
the lights are dim,
the TV's droning,
huge and blue.