Leave
Don’t fuck with me. Stop making things up.
Don’t stand there staring at me in the eyes. Just leave
And spare me your sweet talk
And fake goodbyes. Don’t make a scene.
Don’t say you’re sorry or that “it is what
it is,”: and that everything fades;
that the world and time heal all wounds.
Let me say that again, love: leave.
And take whatever you want from what
we once thought we’d share:
the books, the bibelots, the records,
the portraits, the pool table.
Don’t leave any address. And please:
Fuck off, my love.
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