It's all so simple.
I exist on the terms of
Those who will use me.

I went gentle into that good night;
A decision with which I am rather pleased,
For what would it profit me to rage?

When the absolute of the darkness slides in,
And grants me these last few moments
I see no incentive for them to waste.

Dissatisfied men may cry out in indignance,
And let anger and rebellion consume their last breaths,
And frivolously spend their last minutes in livid disdain.

Wild men who chase and pursue the stars in flight
Feel their chests swell with the hatred of submission,
But I? I know that the setting of the sun does not oppress.

Disappointing men reserve all defiance when it is most required;
When others’ blood pours freely and tears spill liberally
They will shackle all insurrection to themselves.

That is, until they are faced with this finality, this ultimatum
That they cannot change, no matter how they rage. Not I. I was content.
And with the last gifts,
I went gentle into that good night.

Don't
     Touch
          Me
     Ever
Again,
     You
*******.

My darling,
You did nothing wrong.
You were just caught in the crossfire,
Swept up with collateral damage.
You were meant to be so much more
Than a receiver of my shrapnel.

You
Were
Innocent.

"And I swear
I loved that boy
With all that I could.

Loving him was
A painful venture,
And I cherished
every
    excruciating
         step."

It starts out small,
Quiet and pathetic.
The kind of sobbing that gives bystanders the feeling of
Awkward pity.
She whimpers and every once in a moment,
She chokes on top of her hiccups.
She sounds like such a child.

It grows.
The ******* sound grows.
The crying is a little more panicked, more chokes force through.
It sounds a bit more like she is heaving on misery.
She can’t make her lungs work
The way they need her to.
She cannot breathe without her lungs
Catching on regret
And frustration.

If you look at her,
She is curled up inside her own body,
Wrapping her arms around her core.

Oh God, it’s growing louder.
Can’t You fix it?

She is screaming now.
She shrieks in some sort of pain that we don’t know,
And neither does she.
But she feels it.

The noise of hysteria rips out of her.
She can’t control this anymore.
She is pushing and gripping at the hair on her head
Trying to simulate some degree of comfort,
But there is a excruciating pain swelling against her ribs inside of her.

She screams so loudly.
Her fears reverb
Back
And
Forth
Against the walls of my mind.

She can’t breathe without
A crescendo of panic
Crashing into her lungs
Like a flood of salty, bitter water.

I look at her and I wonder,
Who is she,
And how does she know my pain?