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.