Sometimes I wonder, ‘Is this the only way?’ The only way, the only route to vent? Packed up, bottled up and then all cracked up. No pun intended. Only naked truth.
And what be the truth if I am not me and you are not what I thought you to be? Dadaism goes well with me, I have come to realize. I don’t crib. I don’t whine. I just ignore the seemingly apparent and the important.
Poetry doesn’t come to me. Nor did it ever come. What came was lunacy dancing and frolicking in saber toothed edges. They cut me. I bled. Without you watching of course. Oh I do have a pride!
I left home, left love, left peace and the necessary byproducts. I came back in circles. I came back in waves. I washed you out when it rained. I gave you nourishment. I gave you peace, comfort and insanity. And all the time you pointed your fingers at me. You held me responsible. I held you in my gaze. I watched as I had watched alone many times before you.
I wish to annihilate you, wipe out your traces and siphon you out from my system. I can live. Thank you very much. And I can live alone.
Goodbye morbid. I am even tired of you.