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LAST POEM

I wonder if you will ever read
this love poem I have written for you
across my throat
using a razor for a pen
and my lifeblood for the ink.
I think not.
You will see only
an act of cruelty,
rebellion,
revenge against you:
My last act of bitterness toward society.
You always did view us
through the narrow window
of your own perspective.
(Which is totally understandable).
I tried to tell you
this was coming, but
somehow, you just didn’t hear me.
I even thought about
cutting off my ear;
and having it hand-delivered to you;
a last invitation to hear me.
But I knew that would be futile.
(It didn’t work for Vincent, either).

I tried to tell you
with words;
(you said you wanted mine,
not Poe’s, Bryant’s, or Shakespeare’s)
with songs;
(you didn’t like borrowed sentiments)
every way I knew…
but you couldn’t hear me.
The essence of my message
somehow got lost between
my heart and your mind.
I wanted to tell you
that I was unable to live without you;
unable to do life alone;
unable to communicate how I feel,
and mostly
unable to be unable anymore.
Maybe someday you will read my love letter
and hear the words to my song,
and know my love was true.
Then you just might understand
this last poem.

part 2

I received your message
loud and clear.
How cruel of you to
act out your inability to
maintain our relationship by
committing such a bitter act.

I never knew
you were thinking such thoughts.
You never told me how you felt.
You would sing songs,
quote poets,
and write morbid stories —
but never once did you open your heart.
I begged to hear you,
and heard the words of others.
Even this last act of rebellion
against a society you refused to accept
was a copy of your mentors final statements
and not your own.
I will always hurt,
but will never understand.

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