Post-Neology

When you told me it was over,
I thought you meant something else,
Than forever.
The incessant ticking reminds me,
Seriousness of the scorned is stronger than certainty,
Were it only not at my expense,
I might have stood a chance,
At atoning the unforgiveable,
Through method unforeseeable,
The hope would have been enough to
Fuel my yearning towards our future but
Instead, no blame to your name, I find myself,
Running away from my mistakes,
Towards the shadow of my memory of you,
But you aren’t there
Not-a-thing to grab onto.

.

You crafty vixen, I’m twice-bitten:
How is it that you managed,
To find a way to cut me,
Coldly impersonal , your final goodbye.
Owing nothing, you left wordlessly,
Broken and abandoned again,
Bruised bluer than before,
Burdened by some unholy but justly born-again guilt,
Buried beneath barely bygone biographies.
I can’t forgive what I can’t forget,
Burning the books doesn’t help,
Me from seeing your silhouette in the smoke.
Every night is a moonlit reminder,
Screaming from the stars we named,
Of what was an might’ve been,
Every sunrise a monument to the
Regret for your dawn that will never break.

I’m so sorry and
I miss you and
I wish you knew that,
I wish it was me.
I would trade again and again,
Your place for mine,
Even if you wouldn’t,
Rightfully,
Call me your friend.
Most of all,
I wish my sorrow meant anything at all