What can you tell about me that I don’t already know;
what can you see within me now that tells you when I’ll go.
When all I say is nothing, then what words of mine expose
intentions buried down so deep their lips don’t even show.
What made you think that I’m the one, not just the one that’s next,
what arrogance to think that you could put me to your test.
What miscommunication sent by telephone or text;
I’ll take the blame for that, but let me put your mind at rest.
The joy you feel when we’re alone is not reciprocated.
All I feel is sadness when our shallow needs are sated.
I would have done this sooner but it is so complicated;
Lust will run its course but must then be exsanguinated.
You pushed it when you had no right to ask this of a friend.
I tell you now, tell you again, that this is where it ends.
Erik Kaisson, 2017