Stroking with delicate fingers
Over your temple and through
Your thick hair,
Brown as the wilted trees of winter days,
You cry to me.
“Who am I?”
Silenced by my inadequacy
To respond to your tears
And the disgust of your vulnerable
Weeping call,
Mountains of shame carried within.
“Do you love me?”
You wail softly to my rejecting ears,
But of course I do
But of course I don’t
Who could love you?
A fading light of which shone so bright.
“Help me get better?”
Naked
Vulnerable
You cry out for someone’s helping hand
But you only have me
And my snide plans to **** you.
“I’m going to **** myself?”
Good.
Go.
I’m sick of you.
Tired of fixing your mistakes
Only
For you to **** up again.
“Do you miss me?”
I did not hate you, lover,
I despised you
Every time I looked in the mirror
I saw
You,
Your whining face,
And moaning heart,
the figure of my torment,
The figure of your torment,
With thighs scraped and tortured,
I remembered what you were.
What I was.
And then you died,
And then I was born.
Better,
Stronger,
No longer defined by your mistakes,
A Phoenix from the ashes,
I could,
Breathe.
Goodbye, to the lover I left Behind
