“I’m finally numb, so please don’t get me rescued.” – Jack’s Mannequin

I’m sorry
that you don’t believe me.
there’s no such frustration
as that of suspicious disbelief
when it’s truth.
so I compensated
with stupid weak submission.
I was tired. vulnerable. emotional.
and I felt sick.
but you knew.
when I say it feels wrong
it’s not because there’s another.
it’s simple confirmation.
it’s honesty.

I’m sorry
that I hurt you.
that you chose the fast fall
when your landing
was a question mark.
and I care,
and I’m guilty,
but I’m right.

I’m sorry
that you looked at me
like your heart fabric was tearing
whenever I caught your eye,
that you spent this time in misery
from premature confrontation,
for the constant exposure
after the burn,
that I couldn’t force it,
and that the flowers will come soon.

and I’m sorry
to know of animosity
and hard sad feelings…
but I have nothing further to add.
awash with relief
at the drop-off.
but I wish there was a painless way
to do this kind of thing.
because the thought of you
makes me cringe with frustrated sympathy.
not to quote you, sir,
but “thanks for everything.”

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