Why?,
my gut shouts
but
my eyes
can barely
whisper
how fucked
I feel,
and she is
all shoulders
shrugged
and cliches and
I hate
how much
I love her
right now.
I am left hanging
in pain,
a man
crucified,
a whining-spirit
martyr,
and worse I know
I will
rest in it.
Slumping down
hanging on
my arms
empty of you,
then
pushing
off feet
nailed in place
by selfish sadness,
overly anxious
to run to you,
a moment's relief.
I am convicted.
I am pierced.
I would die for you.
You will not have me.
it is finished.
