This Miserable Wake

Crystal Eyes

I thought it was I
Who would scathe you
With hostility.
How mistaken I was,
Now that I see the calumny
Behind those crystal eyes;
But it was I who put the blade
To the throat of our illusion
And laid it to rest with an admission
That should have remained unconfessed.
Now we stare at this cadaver
Born from my mistakes
And realize that resurrections are make-believe—
No burial, no last rite
For this unceremonious suicide;
But worst of all:
No forgiveness in your visage
As you look past me at every turn,
For the sacrilege I have committed
Has lain waste to any semblance of peace
That may have existed between us.
Give me the word, love,
And I will ebb from your life,
Taking with me all the guilt,
All the blame,
All the suffering I have left in this miserable wake.

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