The moment I spoke
your name
for the last time,
you felt it.
You had to throw
the net again into the sea,
to trap me
in my pathetic
admiration of you.
You felt it when
I forgot you existed.
You had to weasel your way
back in to
my heart.
But the space reserved for you
has grown
so small.
How many years
do you plan
on pulling me along?
Dragging me behind your
reckless automobile, my face raw
from rubbing the asphalt. Skin chaffed from
repeated abuse. You are
the madman behind
the wheel.
I forgot about you
until you reminded me that
I'm simply not me
unless I feel
discarded, abandoned,
unloved by you.