-

I walked out.
It was dark and quiet.
Hands heavy.
Chest empty.
feet light
and eyes unfocused.
would it be too bad
if I fell right here?
Would someone notice me?
would I sit up?
or would I stay?
million possibilities of my disposal.

I did everything I could think of:
I slept around.
and excelled in writing.
I made people laugh.
I cried.
I made them fall in love with me.
I traveled.
I played with children,
hoping they'd know the truth.
I played with pets of strange people.
I made friends
and I made acquaintances.
But all I did was for the wrong one.
And no one was you.

And now I live
like a pigeon among others.
I only cry at movies,
when they're sad.
I eat when I'm hungry and
sleep when I'm tired.
I read when I can
and save up some money
for the trips,
which I'm never going to take.

And in my fully adequate
and more than average life,
I miss the your disruptions,
my compulsive obsessions,
life which was governed by Mars
and death which was in every corner
of my cruel experiments.

Few of my friends
have abandoned me.
They thought I'd changed.
And perhaps I have.
Perhaps I say "thank you" too much,
and "sorry" when I should be saying
"fuck off".
I say "may be" when I should "of course",
and "let's do that" when it's a "no".
I say "let me think about it"
and "I know what you mean"
when I should just shout
"I don't fucking care about your life!
You mean nothing."

But there's always a fear,
just a purple uncertainty,
flexed against my heart
that people will leave
and I'd be alone,
with myself.
And we both know,
that's not the best company.
that's why you fled,
did you not?!