I love you but I don't like who you are.

Through the 'I forgot's and the 'Don't you see?'s, I had to implode and shred myself apart just to forget you're not too much like me. You taught me well, at first. We wielded ourselves for each other, shameless and blameless, an old tune of a withering child's play.

It was not easy to pretend, I called innocence up to the jury of Their Eyes; you said They Don't Undersand Us, That's Why. I didn't object.

We played with broken toys when we didn't need them; held and fastened at Falling a-Parts with cobwebbed threads of our vanity.

And now when our corpse love rears its ugly head, I stay still, and I let it come before I let it go, pressing a vestige kiss at the corner of my lying mouth and I remember.

That this is how I remember how it was, with labored breath and plain, vain, shamed heart.

And yes, I wrote these words.

But don't make me eat them.