Broken men and women make poor companions
and there’s no fixing this.
We are done, you and I.
All eternity seems to shudder at the thought,
thinking I jump ship too soon.
The infested waters beckon beneath.
I want to be devoured, I want—
these damn memories to wilt,
pulled out by the roots and left drying in the sun.
Maybe then, this page,
hitherto stained in my life’s blood
will turn white and clean once more—
empty, and happy to remain so.