As someone who has remained in a failed marriage for 30+ years I was devastated to read this poem:
You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart lies buried like something dead.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”
You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.
This city will always pursue you.
You’ll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:
there’s no ship for you, there’s no road.
Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world.
I do feel that I have wasted my life in one small corner, spending years saying I would leave. So much so in fact that when we decorated 4+ years ago I never put any personal items back no photos etc, I was so convinced I could finally leave. I can't regret it all because I have 2 DCs but they have been badly affected by the situation at home, one said to me recently "I've never seen you happy".
I feel like this poem is saying its your own fault and now its too late to put it right.