I could have chosen mermaids and described their piercing songs
or a story about dragons who drank the golden sun,
this could have been a tale of the troubles in the war
of a nurse and wounded soldier who
fell for so much more.

But every time I try to write like this my pen can't catch
my mind, it runs
off so that my thought's broken to
bits
I suppose like our relationship,
until all that remains
is you
is me
on separate lines, in separate beds, with separate thoughts left unsaid.

So here it is my final confession
and last disclosure because I owe nothing to you,
no thought through words
and certainly not a poem
but it all seems so wrong when
every line is about who I don't want to write about anymore
I don't want to write about you anymore
I don't want to write about you
I don't want to.
I don't want you,
not anymore.