What we manifest
is something so dishonest
and i hate to say it
but i stopped loving you.
All of the birthdays
have faded to dispersive
greying clouds and unsaid
words but never hate.
Just dead sympathy for
the kind things you didn't say
while you were still alive.
See, I finally got the words out.
And they will still want me
to be upset. I'm not but I am.
I'm still. Just still.