I wake to see my tear-stained pillow.
It looks at me with pure menace,
Replicating the hatred I have for myself
For hurting you.
Last night is a blur
Of desperation,
Longing,
Conflict.
Why is it that making you happy makes me
Sad?
Last night we
Spoke about
Nothing.
But it spiralled into everything
Without any effort at all.
I am too dysfunctional to continue.
And this morning you'd written a poem
About how you're too sad to write.
Can I have damaged you that much?
That it has prevented you from
Writing?
Oh how you love to write.
It is writing that unites us.
Have I broken you
So much that the link between us is also
Broken?
My tear-stained pillow smothers me with the memories of last night.
It is over now.
I am over.
I am gone.