The point was hammered: my protocol is off, hurtful.
I know it.
The point was hammered so I broke:
Not one more blow.

Such a blank white canvas is
Intimidating
Though it never was before
I have resisted it
And you
Imperiously
Meekly
But now I shall concede.

If I were yours and you were mine
And never we were to doubt
Where would that leave us,
my love,
but doubtlessly,
apart?

I recognize this pattern:
The emails, the phone call
The internet stalking.
I recognize this pattern
The need for some,
Any
Interaction, recognition, reaction,
Justice.

I know what your apology says:
I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted
I’m sorry I couldn’t convince you to stay with me
I’m sorry that you were unhappy
I’m sorry that I snapped at you
And I wish I hadn’t said I never wanted to speak to you again
Because in reality I do
Every day
The way we used to talk
But not now
With the prospect of your misdeeds looming overhead.
Oh yes, I know what your apology says,
And I know that it doesn’t compare
With the apology I owe you.

It would sound empty

if I were to say it again and again

the way that I need to

the way that it strikes me

I MISS YOU.

Every day the desperate SOS

seems farther and farther away

I love you

and it seems as though

time will break us, after all.

I need some reassurance
that you are thinking of me and only me
that occasionally I consume you
own you
enrapture you
I need some reassurance
that you are thinking of me and only me
or I won’t be able
to continue this.

Desire I can write of
Fury just the same
But Love
Love
My pen tarnishes thy name

The ink heart on my hand bleeds
And I want it to bleed
Into you
To Impress you
Imprint you
Meld you
Mine
With a single
Spasmodic squeeze

The ink heart on my hand bleeds
Like I will
If you leave.

You can’t just forget

Love

And I loved you

I’ll never be over it

I’ll just want to be

I’ll never be over it

But I’ll never be over him

And that, my dear,

Is the sticking point.