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effluvium
more …
more than I’ll ever know …
that’s how much you love me
(just spoken)
but what the hell does that mean?
how do you know that I’ll never know
how much you love me??
I mean, thanks …
thanks for the rather underwhelming
appreciation for the capacity of my heart
because it’s damn brutal ambiguity to
follow a “Dear John” address with
and it’s a pathetic cliché with which to
ameliorate your conscience …
I can no longer count the times you’ve
threatened to leave -
holding “goodbye” to my throat like
a rusty old dagger
and now when you finally DO,
your greatest concern is in making
sure you minimize your guilt
I mean … enough already
just get the dirty deed over with
but no …
instead you dangle that
syrupy phrase like a misplaced preposition
and the distorted irony is
that you wouldn’t know love if it
bit you in your bloated ego
thus, even a smidgen would qualify …
so …
how ‘bout you do me a favor?
take back the condescending, sentimental hogwash
trade the rusty blade for Damascus steel
and run it straight through
that way your scruples have a new
high water mark,
my regrets will be clear,
and neither of us will waste any more
precious time on this passive-aggressive
nightmare we call a relationship …
but, just one thing:
I want to FEEL it this time -
I want to know our “Us” is extinct
so make sure the knife is clean …
and make damn sure …
you twist it.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 5, 2024
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
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