Dedicated to the one who'd turned the table.*

I spent two hours
Trying to make you savor me,
When I can’t stomach myself.
I can abuse myself though
And refuse myself, recuse myself,
But all I’d ask is that you
Hold my hand, ensued the chaos,
I promise – I won’t let go.

I spent the entire next day,
Apologetic…embarrassed,
And a little more lost –
Faded further, from the night before,
The now-embedded moments,
Slivers broken skin,
In increments,
And never quite whole.

So I spend tomorrow today,
Anxious, afraid, eye on door,
An ear for the phone, and all for you,
Entirely, when you’d forgotten me,
And I’d hoped to forget me too;
So ensues the conundrum,
A wish that it’s all in my head,
And that you really do care.

Truths be told, I’m usually the fog
That lifts and later leaves come morning.
Off-scripted, you’d beaten me to the punch.
You were the one gone far before dawn,
No name, no number, no, “nothing,”
Yet more, “bountiful,”  than ever,
And maybe it because, the “empty’s,”
Actually me, the awkward, “other.”