Is she really here? (Part II)

In the quiet corners of our shattered home,
Where shadows whisper and broken dreams roam,
A tale unfolds, silent and stark,
Of a love that once kindled, now lost in the dark.

For twenty long years, we weathered the storm,
Her mind a battlefield, never to transform.
Potions and pills, her daily plight,
Our union a twilight, devoid of light.

The decree came down, divorce in name,
Yet in her eyes, a flickering flame.
Abandoned by kin, her world turned bleak,
In her fragile gaze, a silent shriek.

How could I, her once sworn ally,
Watch her wither, alone, under the open sky?
So I offered refuge, a space, a bed,
Controlled her meds, where nightmares tread.

As seasons turned, her mind found peace,
But with her clarity, our bond did cease.
A stranger she became, distant and cold,
A story rewritten, a new self bold.

Our shared life dwindled to cohabitation,
Rooms filled with silence, not conversation.
She, a ghost, drifting through the days,
I, a specter, lost in the haze.

Each morning, a routine, church to work, then back,
Our journey together, a monotonous track.
No words spoken, just an empty stare,
Two souls in limbo, suspended in air.

In this house, echoes of a love that died,
A hollow shell, where my silent tears reside.
Her needs, her life, the only bond we share,
A haunting reminder of the past we bear.

But in this void, a painful truth does dwell,
Her absence felt, a personal hell.
More than a ghost, she's the death of dreams,
A reminder of broken seams.

For in her vacancy, an aching need,
Her indifference, a silent bleed.
A presence that haunts, not with malice or spite,
But with the quiet void of eternal night.

In this tragic tale, the cruelest part,
She lives here, yet absent from my heart.
A phantom in flesh, a soul untethered,
Two strangers under one roof, forever weathered.

And as I ponder, in this twilight dim,
Is she really here, or just a memory grim?
Her life with mine, a fractured blend,
And in this silent agony, I comprehend:

This haunting presence, neither enemy nor guest,
Erodes the heart within my chest.
And this, the tragedy that our lives decree,
She's a ghost of what was, not what could be.