We started too quickly.
Both torn from our last companion.
So we rushed in, sickly
And lept from the grand canyon
No landing zone. No bungee
Only resistance was my banyan.

As we descended into certain doom
a single thought occurred; I don't like you.
I'm pushing you away so I may land in my own tomb
And when comes the cleaning crew
My mess won't mix with your gloom.
Such a reliving thought to be separated with hew



A most despicable thought is being for better or worse with you

Sincerely,
Timothy Brown.

P.S If you don't understand, I'm breaking up with you.