Of all the words I never got to say
there’s still three that haunt me to this day.
They’re plaguing my skies to turn them all to grey,
I wonder if you ever would’ve felt this way.

I’ll make this cryptic so it stretches it out real long,
less descriptive but the message still stands too strong.
But it sounds so light that it’s become a song;
You were right, you were never wrong.

Of all the feelings I still have these in my chest,
weighing down the muscle slightly above my left breast.
First I thought it a lesson but now I believe it’s a test,
to see if I can beat my head and get some rest.

Read between the line,
when I say that I’m doing fine,
and try to translate my foreign sign,
if you care enough to devote the time.

I’ll make this cryptic so it stretches it out real long,
no intent to be vindictive but the time has come along.
My fear; I’ll fight, even though I’m too headstrong,
you were right, you were never wrong.

She said to always look at the stars
especially the ones that shine so bright.
I’ll keep the memory for my reservoirs,
but the constellation was her in my sight.
You weren’t wrong, you were always right.

Don’t forget me when I am gone,
Even though I never left.
Even though you don’t see me
Or want to.

I am still here, overwhelmed
Worried.  (You don’t love me)
Ashamed.  (Of what I’ve done)
Hurt.  (Of what has become)
Needing.  (To be understood)
Wanting.  (You and all of you)

Hoping.
I am seen.
Learning to live.
Accepting it all.

Don’t forget me when I am gone,
I am right here.  I’ll be back.
You’ll see me again, you’ll feel me again.
But for the moment, don’t forget me when I am gone.
It won’t be long, you’ll see.  
It won’t be long.

My heart says, “I love you”
My tears say “I miss you”
And my soul says, “I don’t want to be without you”

And my brain, the logical of all, the problem causer says “I am sorry”.

He thought everything was alright
since he never heard her sobs.
So he went on with his life after
a halfhearted apology.
And she went back to bed
filling her favorite pillows
with her silent sorrows.

I offer you my apologies, Esther
for I had to **** her.
She was a poet, you see,
and she was consuming you,
corrupting you,
turning you inside out,
b a c k w a r d s
so that
when you screamed,
your mouth let loose a torrent of letters that sprayed the walls in ink, left them soaked for days
and when you cried,
your eyes wept love letters in Shakespearean verse and suicide notes in Hemingway prose
and when you sang,
you did so sporadically, your voice breaking—into irregular cadence and—rhythm—in the middle—of your—sentences—
and when you were silent
it was because you were too busy pleasing her, dreaming up things that didn’t exist, obsessing over some poem that wouldn’t let you sleep.
And so I had to save you, Esther
she was turning you into a poet, you see,
and I had to save you.
I’d offer you my condolences
but I doubt you’d take them
after I wrapped your poem around her neck
and tore out her inky guts
and gouged out her sleepless eyes
and shoved her under my bed
so that I could smell her carcass as I slept
and know you were saved.
So I offer you my apologies, Esther,
for I had to **** her.
She was a poet, you see, and she was killing you.