he said I've never been one to swear when I'm mad
but I'll call you what you are
if I need to.

he said I come up with names for people that run forever
he said I'm calling you an aberration.
               if that's what you are
and if it is,
then that's the worst thing I'll call you.

but how is that the worst thing he'd call me?

when he called me
a painful love? and
when he called it
painstaking adoration

stupidity in the form of infatuation
he said be with me
but leave in the morning
cause after this i don't ever want to see you again

and then he called me to say i was an aberration
but his words felt like they meant to say that i was not quite the aberration but
    the  everything  that had gone   wrong
that was now getting what it had coming
and melting, coming in as purple flurries of
a sad sad sad till  it all  finally
  became the       red of the moon on the day i last saw you
and there was nothing more to mourn after that
        but the   hopeless, formless, blobulous
aberrations that line up like stars
that he calls consolations (you were a consolation)
not constellations

and the days i existed before i knew i was and wasn't one.

and i guess it's all too easy to say i
appreciate your honesty but harder when
i'm here on this rooftop
trying to balance old equations
       that don't have numbers to them
trying to
take these pieces  and pretend they're from
the same puzzle.
        taking one stupid piece after another
of myself hoping to
draw myself together into a
redemption
against him  
and i'm sure this is fair because
love is an emotional minefield and he knows how to play *****.