if i told you i missed the depth
that i was out of when we spoke-
the loss of vision, both
of eyes and of goals
your clouded thoughts
hazing me out and
covering my heart like a shroud-

i know you'd laugh at me,
your petite protege,
missing the vines that
held the thorns tying
my life to yours for seven years,
like the seven demons
you unleashed upon me.

it is so hard to release myself from everything you stood for-
death's great doorway
              was a plaything,
your machismo got in the way
and slowed his arrival
but he still came
maybe not physically
into our realm; but he still came,
in late night conversations, speech-to-text at four am,
dried tears on my pillow,
along with
your names leaking out of me
like the marrow in my bones-

i know i'm just
a snack in your eyes
and though you're hungry yet,
i think i may be
out of your depth now.