Short sidedness,
blistering thoughts;
selfish predisposition:

What a world!

Hypocritical claims
about profound lack of wisdom
and fear of loneliness;

Deeply ironic statements
about some lust to be alone
that you felt as you ******:

Your words seem well chosen and articulated,
and perhaps in time will become true;
but it seems to me that they right now
are as hollow and transient as the space
between your actions, logic, and resolve:

I've found very little
that can make me stop
to laugh and cry all at once,
perhaps a few pieces of Beethoven's music and some really ******* good metal;

but you sit atop that short list
on your rather gorgeous and elegant hubristic throne,
mocking the progress I've made,
oozing with scorn and spite:

You have so much to learn before you will be regarded as you like to assume you are:

"Responsible"; word around the campfire is: hardly.
"Honest"; perhaps in words, but apparently not actions.
"Mature"; physically, it seems, but mentally? Not so much.
"Respectful"; only to yourself, and seemingly not even that.

I tried to help, and clearly failed.
If it were a test, you cheated;
didn't bother to see how it could've been,
but hey:
at least you were honest.

At least you told the Truth,
though your actions were untrue.

I thought I loved you;
I thought I needed you.
Perhaps I did,
but it has run it's course:
you killed it on purpose.
I suppose it served it's purpose to you;
that I have served my purpose to you.

I detach myself from you,
and from myself, in the process,
and in the process, I fall in love
with those aspects of myself
I so seek in others:

Darkness; honesty. Honor. Intellect.
Humour. Creativity, balance. Respect.
A level of elegance, but an amount of "**** it";
Mental maturity, to an extent.
A moderate badass. A **** badass.

Though, it seems,
the path to Heaven is paved with good intentions,
and is built with the bones of the hopeful,
and is illuminated by unfounded faith
in ****** ******* people:

A mandala of Irony.