I unsubscribed from her affection this past day.

It was not as easy as I’d hoped. The blissful ignorance
made me immune to my conviction,
but once I ended our enjoyment, everything, all that anguish,
came sprawling through the cracks, the canvas
having snapped beneath the weight of unrelenting sorrow.

Never had I anticipated such fierce comeuppance.

I was unappreciative when I held her in my arms,
but now that my hands taste emptiness,
and acknowledge the nakedness of my surrounds,
that were once kept warm by her, I drape myself
in wretched cold, and wish instead for those savory nights
during which she warmed me with her kiss.

I began pondering about the beginning, the moment
I was consumed by the end, and though I was the instigator
of such unfortunate fate, where it had pleased me to imagine myself
requesting the termination of our heart’s connectedness,
the serenity I convinced myself would come,
was wrought instead by a teary eyed conclusion.

I trained myself from a young age, to never cry
in front of strangers – or family for that matter,
who behave like strangers when the emotions flare,
seldom understanding the phantom pain that took flight within.

A sudden burst of scrutiny, from my cerebral cortex
to my heart, relegates any ambrosia insufficient,
in tending to my wounds.

Sometimes I wish it was she who ended things,
then I needn’t damn myself with thoughts
of wickedness. The truth however is, I snapped
a woman’s happiness in two, and no happy fibs
will dislodge the calluses inflicted on the memories
I made with her.

Derek Childs, March 16th


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