Hindsight

You don't miss me.
I'm laughing at this.

Like "Ha ha ha, bless your soul."

You live your life
And I grow on with mine
Stronger and higher like happiness,
And we become hindsight,
20/20.
4 out of 4.
But this is written to you
Who doesn't miss me.

“There was something so pleasant about that place.
Even your emotions had an echo in so much space.”

So, did you, do you,
have a beautiful mind
with blue and purple flares
rising up from it,
and one day                  and nothing connected
And its name was mine?
No with el sense-making
First my content, then guilt drove my being away--
It doesn't make sense.

Real friend-people at least give a brain-shit about their
Friends.



~~And I was always worth so much more.
I was drug down to your levels,
I had always done my best before
To be that word--
That gray-purple-white-yellow-red-green word
that you don't know.
I WAS WORTH IT.~~


I can believe you don't miss me.
It hurts only as much as wonder,
Like a contradiction of things long past
that makes me curious
what are they thinking?

"You really think you're in control?"

Your crime was not the malice phase;

You have a full human sphere
Of hard, hard, unbendable neglect

nelgect

englect.


Would it haunt you never?
I'd have you forsake your raw guilt--
Not like "I hope that you are having the time or your life"
More like I'd rather you miss me.
Then one would come with the other,
Your sweetest kind of pain, refinery.
Minding, I speak from the sidelines now,
Peering down at a rotting pool.

I have for months gasped through my
hurt
and you won't take a turn.
If you would the ship would never have
sunk.

I'm over

the acid

the rotting

across

the stinging irony

iron.


And you don't miss me
as you drown out of my world.
These words will never reach you
from this new shore.

I luved ya lots

so swim when you choose--

I have, with perfect grasp
of all that's safe,
long marked my feet against the sand
as I walked away.


The thoughts that return are an arching spark
that will die as it lands:
Would you have us rebuild
our images of each other,
or are you really okay with it?
Or are you still unaware
that your blue and purple brain flares

cast out the ourtne

and then the

Cy?







(Like “Maybe we’re crazy.
Probably.”)