Distancing yourself from me
Or saving me from you
Some days I wonder which it is you do

Swimming away from me
Or struggling with the tide
Most days I wish I had a guide

A map to show me your routes
The cavities of your existence
The holes in your feverous heart

Just so I could go,
                           dash in;
                                take the hurt.

Sometimes I wish I had a guide,
A "how-to" in twelve steps and all
But then I remember:
                                        You are other
You are not me, not at all.

Some moments, though, I still want that map
I really do sometimes, just so I could recall
But you wouldn't want me to have it, would you?
You wouldn't want me to help you at all.