i can be as broken as i want to be-- as hopeless,
lustless, lifeless as i want to be-- but only alone, see,
since there is no one in the world for you but
her. what am i, wasted time dripping off the cliff's edge,
a tired raven perched above your chamber door,
the tired, stupid king whose weakness makes its own decisions.
i am at least tired, stupid, wishing i could be as
wasted as i feel. i can be as wasted as i want to be,
but only behind closed doors. in the world, i will--
i will because i want, because i retain power
and agency and will even when i lack you--
i will show a whole face, a strong spine, an open smile,
while millions of miles away you are bathed in her starlight,
in the open wound of her love and the gore
that is a new heart opening up to you. i am reduced
to a ghost in the hallway, wringing her hands because the blood
won't come out. my lungs, concrete and marred with breath,
drop out of my rib cage gradually, tearing away
from the constrictions of the diaphragm: with each exhale
they drop an inch lower, tearing away from my mouth.
when next your light breaks, i will-- because i lack everything
now except will-- be smiling, and appear whole.