divest

Are you really Proud to be?

or is it just me who sees that you have nothing that you want to offer –

not that you’d give me anyway.

but hey, ain’t this how we play?

You smack the ball hard to my side of the court

I could give a shit, baby blue.

Me now busy playing kick the can

At the park, you falter, you wait –

Was that too little, too late?

I am halfway over you;

No, not all the way–

but I hate having even this much fucking regret,

Still reeling from the words you never say.

Why should today be any different?

Me the blundering idiot..

The sacrificial lamb you led me by the hand

I went willingly to my slaughter.

Rimbaud: “I am in hell, therefore I’m there.”

At least with you I know I exist.

If I cry, then you are there.

I am then present. I exist for you in this.

You tell me: “I don’t like to cry.”

Sure, but who makes you?

I doubt you ache, feel the sting, sharp slap –

It comes down hard, leaves the cheeks red with betrayal,

I am shame-faced, crimson.

I bleed too.

You see but do not see.

If you ache, love,

don’t look to me –

It is your own heart you break.

Divest – it is the watchword of the day.

I take each thing in turn: these objects,

these words, each thing in turn;

I shatter the whole of us to pieces

– such pretty colors.

They never meant a thing.