we had potential,
-kx, and with respect to
x, *******.
we could've been
a masterwork,
Fields of Rapeseed, 1883, painted
in Prague, oil on
canvas.
but no,
you had to be
Mr. ******* Fantastic,
stretching yourself thin and
stretching my patience
again and again like
so much taffy to be made
palatable.
I have always been
difficult to stomach, even
at the best of times,
and you thought you could be the
Zeus to my Europa, whisk me
away and act like it'd all be okay.
but you didn't understand,
I was Europa, but
not the myth, the moon,
and I desired nothing more than to
drag you into my orbit and
drag you down to your demise.