You're just a symptom of my mental state,

that I've romanticized into love and fate.

Escapism has always been my trait,

avoiding reality until it's too late.


Forgive me, darling, I used you as a distraction,

built glass castles off of mere attraction.

I got attached, written you poems,

to avoid facing my own problems.

But obsessions are dangerous, and I wish you well,

I won't drag you with me into this hell.


So goodbye, dear - a farewell to pining;

in this last poem, there's one silver lining:

I'm just glad I never did tell;

and now I'll rise up from where I fell.