poem

 The 12th Draft

You know what? I can’t go through with it. I take it all back. I retract the apologies spewed in all the other drafts. None of you are absolved. You’re all to blame. It’s all your fault I came this close. I don’t regret the temporary sense of loss I may have inflicted. I’m still here, grinding my teeth, nursing hard earned grudges. Do not go on with your lives. Do not remarry. Cancel the meeting with the estate attorney. Stop trying to be strong in the face of untimely tragedy. Do not leave my room untouched. Stop curating your memories. Un-cancel your holiday plans. I’ve spared you the hassle of fighting with airlines to get your money back. Maybe next time you’ll get trip insurance. You’re stuck with me. I shall spoil your lives for a bit longer. For those who have already forgotten me…. Surprise!  I’m back!  I know now my pain isn’t unique. See? Even my suffering is derivative and unoriginal. I’ll continue to not miss seeing any of you. I’ll embrace my isolation for now on. I don’t need a coffin and a tombstone to feel alone. That’s the way it is. I’d probably screw it up anyway. Wrong dose, poor aim, catch something on the way down to break my fall. End up only half dead, a vegetable that gets fed and watered q shift at a sorry place called Somnolent Oaks or something. Truth is I'm a coward. Weak enough to loathe myself, while lacking the tragic nobility of rock bottom despair. Still, after all these years, with the delusions of grandeur. Besides, the dog kept banging through the bedroom door. You can’t do a damn thing in front of a dog. Whether I do anything or not do anything, whether I live a “long and fruitful life” or careen headfirst into a wet ditch, you will all someday, no matter what, disappear from this warped point of view. That’s what happens. It’s neither fair nor unfair. When it’s over it’s over. I’m only still here because I love you.

3/22/23