I really do offer you my apologies, Esther
for I killed her.
She was a poet, you see
and she made you fly
jump
leap
she made you  f e e l—
love, anger, hate
and all the sadness in between
blue, red, black
and all the purple in between
she made you  f e e l
euphoria, heaven, hell, misery
she made you  f e e l
GOD.
she made you
GOD.
So I offer you my apologies, Esther
for she left you—
like one of God’s abandoned creations
empty, blank, lonely
and all the confusion in between
she left you
crying, silent, sobbing
and all the screaming in between
she left you
ME.
I’d offer you my condolences
(you haven’t felt in a while)
but I doubt you’d take them
after I dragged her carcass from under my bed
and stuffed all-nighters back into her eyes
and pumped ink back into her veins
and wrapped castes of crumbled sentences around her bruises
and she was still dead.
So I offer you my apologies, Esther
for I killed her.
She was a poet, you see,
and she made you
ALIVE.
and left you
DEAD.