Listening to subscribed channels about loving myself
is probably more harmful than actually loving.
You can abandon people and they are still in the dark
even if I research the best methods of unloving someone
it can’t be done. Rooms wait for people to walk into
and as long as I wait for you, you can’t come in
to see me. It’s fine. I prefer it that way. Death beds
are such beautiful places to end up in. Heaven
is a place you described once, while I wasn’t
in the room. I can see you there talking to her
and pretending I don’t exist. It’s fine. It’s not fine.
I’m absent from this part of the story.
You can use me up until I say no more. It’s coming.
That day you dread. Death sucks up love at will.
You can go about your silence. It has no guilt.