I can't blame you,
Really.
You're bound by blood and guilt,
Guilt and blood.
You'd be better off
Without the xanax though.
You'd be better off
If you didn't smell like a decaying skunk.
But you wouldn't know right from wrong
The way you know right from left
When it comes to the haze you fall into
When all that high
And all that guilt
And all that blood
Comes into play.

And as for blue-tipped skinks,
Who like to pretend they're dragons,
Well, you might be garden variety
But the advice you gave unto me
To help a mangled capricorn
Ended up helping me
And now I'm so much better
Than I was.

I couldn't thank you enough,
The way you asked me how I was
Less than two months after
Everything imploded.
You only did what you thought was best,
And I will always understand that,
Even if it never landed in my, at the time, favor.

And as for weasels
Who have the tongues of snakes,
You did what you did for your own amusement
And you did what you did to stir up trouble
Because you thrive on chaos.
But your chaos forced me away
Forced me out
And into the arms
Of someone I've known and loved
For much longer than I've even flightily cared for you.

And I'm grateful.
Though it hurt,
So does all growth.
You were a growing pain,
And I have grown
Far beyond
My need for you.

I grateful to bats
And skinks
and even snake tongued weasels.

And I always will be.