i’ve written this so many
different times, usually scrawled
in half fading ink, blood droplets
scattered. this time, for the first time,
i am writing it addressed to You.

you left months ago, left without
a closing goodbye. you left three days
after i last tried; i didn’t even bother
writing anything then. i barely had
the energy to even hold the metal
much less explain my disdain
for the life i have always lived.

my room still reeks of cigarettes
and i wonder if you’ve quit.
i only chainsmoke when i’m
falling back in love with all
the danger, discounting how
unfairly i was treated.
i want to know how many times
you’ve lied to me, because
i watched you wiggle your
way out of glue traps that
were sure to ensnare you.

i am writing this because
i think people deserve closure,
not to leave without a word
or explanation. my reason is
simple: i have no interest
in life. i have no connection
to the world anymore.
i have no connection to
my emotions anymore.
don’t blame yourself
but don’t flatter yourself either.