You

You, to me, were hands plunged into pockets and finding money but, actually, it just stray paper that has a strange texture, as it is starting

to rot

you are like a life line thrown but completely, so that you pull frantically on one end until you reach the other, as if being mocked

as you drown

you are like a star in the night sky light, bright, a vision seemingly worthy of being wrapped in prose but ultimately, completely dead

cold and barren

a dead thing that we need to find something positive to talk of for that is the done thing, the polite thing to find the light that never was

you are like getting a participation award in a two person race just wondering, did you run out

of silver

anyway, weirdly, improbably I miss you, or did after spending all that money the wasted expenditure on

bullets

call me sometime from the bottom of a dry well, or wet, makes no difference I will run off, looking for something, anything

that will serve as a lid

you are a dame one crosses streets for quits jobs for changes addresses, countries, hair colour

hell, even names for

You type existed in Homer he just omitted them from all of his works, the twin sisters of the Sirens, having the opposite effect

driving sailors, screaming, away

and given all your many vices and your exhausting stories that start in an outward direction but boomerang back unto yourself, ending

in a crescendo of self aggrandizement

given all that, you were the one that left me talk about a bitter pill sure the end result is ideal, desired

blessed apartness

just the journey to freedom hurts to think about, an admittance

of one’s lack of self preservation