It doesn’t matter why you went
only that you went. I told myself
twenty times today. To have nothing
but silence is like sudden death.
No chance for long goodbyes
or postmortem analysis of who did
what to whom where how often.
You never gave me a chance
and I was too cowardly
to demand a podium.
Never mind that there are words
stored inside my body, multiply by thousands
like malice, those malignant cells.
Why don’t you hit me
hard with the list? The top ten reasons
why you need to rid of me.
Was I not good enough,
or too good for you?
Was I too hard on myself
or too hard on you?
Do I love you too much
and expect too little?
Did I or did I not earn a grand ridicule,
a laundry list of failings
a scattered chart of your footprints
to the others you picked up or frequented?
How about a punchline
to a joke of this relationship? What relationship?
You cunning son of corvids
always ten steps ahead of me.
If it would give me closure, I’d set fire to the wet sheets.
Desire rots a mind like forgotten spilled milk.
Scavenger Hunt Writing Prompt 17. wet sheets, fire, corvids, milk