They call it closure right?

An end to carrying this around

Like a fucking other self I live while those around

Pity my isolation

Never once suspecting the horrendous

Fascination pursuing this brings

To my daily waking hours

Handed over definitely unfairly - I concede - agreed

An awkward situation where your past intrudes

Most impolitely

The impudence persisting

(Never mind the no encouragement on your part)

Now you must read

Now you too must also live

The irony of knowing but unable to do anything

But caught up in the life of your own making

"I am sorry"

Too many bloody words

I blame you sure even as I exult

In your once salvaging of me (if not-

If not some unsuspecting part of you reaching out then

Capturing fear - thrusting it into ink - sure I'd be

Some place other

Beyond this misplaced town-house they call reality;

A brief news-bite)

I've missed you... missed me more- the self igniting

Melting melding mending even broken-down dreams

I so do crave the lips through which I drank reckless abandon

Never expecting they'd shut silent or that I may be

Outside one day

So fucking thirsty watching them

Pour life yet unable to reach in and take some taste

(Some other woman stepping in and drinking everything

In my place... who'd even dream the irony right?)

Closure sure

Cutting you loose bullshit excuse for

Letting you know where I've been lurking and giving you

The burden of carting it around because I bloody

Blame your once reluctance to secure me

Hold me down

Still refusing to accept my insignificance

"I am sorry"