I’m Not Here

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I’m not here to fix you.
Played the mechanic so many times
I recognise a fixer-upper when I see one.
I know the games you play, I know your hand before you’ve even begun.
So I’ll just sit here and let you repine,
Because, I’m not here to fix you.

I’m not here to heal you.
Not your therapist or strategist, or even pragmatist.
Helping you see the best in you, only to have you puff your chest
And leave, because you’ve discovered self-belief, because you deserve the best.
And I’m not It. I know, I’m great but…. I get the gist.
So. I’m not here to heal you.

I’m not here to care for you.
Don’t try to make me jealous, or miss you when you disappear.
Hint at your troubles. Remove your affection as and when you please.
Say and do what you will. No words or gestures will appease.
No second chances, no woe-is-me. I’m not that person any more, I fear.
Don’t mistake me as someone to care for you.

I’m Not Here

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I Have To Let You Go

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I have to let you go.
You’ve never known for this to be but you have such control of me
I have to let go. Be free.
You’ll never feel the way I do.
I know this, seen this, over again, but, scared of the outcome, remain
Stranded, in limbo, lost. The same.
I once existed without you in my world.
My heart shatters at the thought, pounds against my chest, fighting what’s best
For me. It allows for no rest.
It fears the cold and silence
That will descend without you making it race, slowing to icy pace
For how could anything else replace?
But what choice do I have?
I can’t live in my own head, imagined happiness replaced with dread
Because your direction’s somewhere else instead.
I have to let you go.
But I don’t want to.
Don’t know how to even try to,
Or how I’ll exist if I manage to, but,
I have to let you go.

I Have To Let You Go

Human

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When you burned the building down to the ground,
Did you forget there were people inside too?
Or in your diluted, polluted view of the world,
Had they somehow ceased to be human to you?

Consider this. Were they mere farmyard animals,
You would have been guilty of committing slaughter.
But they weren’t. They were people, whole, like you and me.
Father. Brother. Sister. Mother. Son. Daughter.

How dare you believe yourself better, and claim righteousness.
Thou shalt not kill is more than commandment,
It is an unspoken agreement with yourself
To accept humanity with humility, and face judgement when you do not.

We judge you. We find you wanting.
Lacking any trace of humanity right though to the human core.
If your god really did exist, he would turn his back on you.
We would wish you damnation ever more.

Peitavas still stands tall, proud, defiant.
You may think yourself worthy, but you are wrong.
Not even animals butcher each other for sport.
This is a shared world, to which you have lost the right to belong.

 

Hook

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I would tell you that you’re off the hook,
But having something so invasive withdrawn from your skin
Must cause pain.
And losing me, you won’t notice. You won’t feel a thing.

I would tell you that you’re off the hook,
But that would mean I had ensnared you to begin with,
And that would be a falsehood worthy of a fishwive’s tale,
Since you’ve never even noticed me here, holding on.

I would tell you that you’re off the hook,
But you were always someone else’s catch,
And I was only some twinkling trinket of entertainment,
Whilst you dithered, until you were ready to attach yourself fully to her.

So maybe.

Maybe I should be telling myself that I’m off the hook.
And that though the hole in my world where you once were is raw, and weeping,
And though I’ll remain dazed by day and eye wide by night, not sleeping for an age,
And though I’ve forgotten what it is to live beyond your shore,
The sea out there looks calm. Vast. Peaceful.
There must at least be the hope for something…

Hold the floor

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So you’re holding the floor with your
Audience in rapture.
A score’s breath held, anticipating more.
Your words set a springing trap
And those weak-willed are captured,
While those with opinions fall through the gaps,
Down which your derision pours.

The skill of weaving tales
Is not one that you’ve mastered,
Your train of poison derailed
As wheels separate from track,
Cruel words sparking, lies paving way for disaster,
As the cables took for granted snap
Under the strain of your self-pity wail.

Hiding

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There’s a thing that’s been hiding behind this smile.
We’ve both known it’s there. We’ve known for a while.
You teeter, pontificate, retreat and withdraw.
I’ve seen such waggle dances time and time before.
But whilst you were dancing and taking what you could,
Realisation claimed me, which can only be good.
I fell from my trojan horse; stranded, change began,
And now I see you taking from me all that you can,
Then like some mythical vampiric beast of the night
After draining me empty, until nothing seems right
Disappear on the wind with some vague fleeting word
Only to return when you wish to be heard.
But the thing that’s been hiding now strives to be seen,
Now it’s my turn to ponder on just what that means.
Next time you come calling, bemoaning life unfair,
Maybe it will surprise you that I’m no longer there.
You won’t know my hiding place, won’t know the route,
By which time ‘I’m sorry’ will be a point moot.

Hiding

Hatred

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Hatred is an acid that corrodes your innards.
You are, effectively, eating me away.
Five minutes alone in a room with you,
With no filter on what I can do or say,
Might just result in some Very Unpleasant Behaviour.
Let’s hope for your sake, this fantasy never comes true.
Because, there’s one thing of which I am completely certain:
I would glorify in being the end of you.

Hatred