the contempt you must feel in your bones
you weave in and out of my life like a quiet storm
leaving all the wreckage in your wake
you must have the cruelest of intentions
to walk away, to take the net
as i tumble to the ground
out of the most
obscure cloud
in the farthest
reaches of
the heavens
such a heathen you are
twisted soul
to premeditate
the reticent confusion
you need to
get over, over and over
to think me so boorish
i would not notice the invective approach
taken
to
make me your
most unbreakable addiction