It is an absolute atrocity
the way your absence
seems to never appease me.
All I can be expected to need from you
is your void and the relief at your leaving.
But nevertheless I am left with disgrace
at the thought that I wait just to grieve you.
It is a motionless mess I am left in
when your carelessness washes away
and you suddenly breeze in and look withering
and helpless beneath your own ways.
I cannot be your keeper or conqueror
or a picture of what you deserve
I cannot sit and watch you destroy
every reason I have to still need you.
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