Goodbye, Old Friend.

All the beautiful people. Love you. When life is pretty,
and you give them what they want.

When you are high and shy, and cry
and mourn the shallow waters that
they walk in. When you jerk and twitch
and
hitch up your seductive skirt
to trail along after the silliness that they leave
behind.

Thumbs up. Selfie smile. When all the while.
You can only see you.
Your face.
Your situation. Your spit as it
hits my face.
Your perfectly filtered,
perfectly cropped,
perfectly chopped,
perfectly timed, re-rhymed, re-rehearsed lies;
so well managed.

Practiced pain.
Impressive.

Attention seeking innuendo. Magnetic bursts of grief.
Photographed relief.
Devastating disbelief at how alone you are.
You.

Who walks away.
Every day.
Like clockwork.
From those that faced you.
From me.
who embraced you.

Completely.
Without question. Until, the only question was – why?

You knew that the gun, you kept aiming at me.
Was loaded.
And that your aim;
Your breathtaking aim, would find me with no effort. None.

That gun.
Silence.
Blind coward like pretending.
Fake bull like charging into, ‘I feel too much.’
So you run.
So, you sit.
So you hide.
So you lean on ‘this is who I have always been.’
That works for you.
It always has. It keeps you safe. Your blanket of
phobia and fear and vulnerability and
blame.

You are the same. Now.
As yesterday.

Good bye.
Old friend.