this is not about you
and I am done writing about you because all you really ever were was 3,000 almosts that never meant anything in the end
I'm not writing about how much I love you anymore but about how much I absolutely loathe your menacing brown eyes that glitter and gleam with fire
I'm not writing about how beautiful you are but how terribly rotten you are
to the very core
I'm not writing anything about you anymore at all because that is exactly what you want from me
I feed your ego
you never loved me
you just loved the
attention
and this is not about you.

I have taken myself to far.
I have given myself over to
something to strong.

This frenzy
lifts me to my
fate.

Guides me to my
doom.

Into you.
Is where i will fall

Your hogging
the equilibrium

I see you
dying
to come out
and ruin me.

to my darling who feels she's not:
our separation is mere illusion.
truly, your pain strikes me as i write this;
your sensations of abandonment,
and the decisiveness they have caused,
bleed from my skin into the fibers of my clothes.
i am no longer clean.
i do not feel pure.

to my severed arm and shortened tendons:
destruction is merely another side of life.
out of disappearance comes all things-
without space, there would be nothing to contain us,
nothing to allow and enfold our beings' spirits,
and they would sputter and cease like my love's flame.
i am no longer yours.
i do not feel full.

to the farthest star that my eyes can see:
your light reaches me- i glimpse you!
in the perceived emptiness between us
there is no distance to be found;
around us exists the infinite potential for
further connection and deeper growth in closeness.
i am no longer alone.
i do not feel sorrow.