such subtleties

I don't really feel like writing you a poem, but I'm angry. You of all people, as if you deserve a poem. As if you deserve my time or thoughts or energy or love. But there we were and here we are. And I am angry. I am so. angry.

I wanted so badly to believe you were better than you were. But you weren't.
You were cruel and shrewd and you didn't give a fuck what that meant to anyone else.
You were selfish and careless and you ruined so many good things.
You took parts of me away. You took them and I don't know how to get them back. I am without arm, without lung, without iris, without tongue, without toenail, without smile. I'm heaving a smile onto my face as if it is some huge task and it used to be so easy. I lost it. I lost it. I lost it. I lost myself. Gave it away at the stroke of midnight as if it were some kind of glass shoe you'd borrow and give back. I left me there in the rain, under the tree, in the fire, in the blazing sky, in the winter snow, in the fingers of your mittens.

But in the rain, oh the rain, I am mostly in the rain. In the huge drops that make puddles in the gutters and the alleyways where the old men sleep when they can't go home. I fell into those puddles and I couldn't get up. Like Alice I just kept falling. I got smaller and I got bigger and I couldn't find an in-between. I was late late late for something but I couldn't tell you what.

I drank the tea but it was ink. I drank the wine but it was whiskey. It stung my tongue so badly I thought I might never taste again. I awakened in the morning and didn't want to. I was numb and careless and I stumbled into a bed that wasn't mine. I ate your heart in tiny nibbles, little bites that took too much time. I lost all time. I was hungry. I was hungry. I was famished. The circle broke. The flowers died. The seeds we planted never grew. November ended. I was foolish. You were cruel but I was crueler. You were empty. I was lost.