Sometimes I think I’ve gone too far

away from you

That I’m back where I started–

Right behind you.

If only your memory were a corpse

Buried in the ground,

And I never had a shovel

Or pick

Or spoon

Or hands-

Then there would be no nights like this.

 

But you’re a seed,

That turned into a tree

And you know how I just can’t

Resist the shade.

And you bore fruit

And I ate them all

And spat out the pits.

 

Maybe if I just kept still–

 

Maybe if I destroyed you–

 

Maybe if you just stopped mattering

And I stopped muttering

We start happening

And I stop hoping.

 

Then I’d see that the seed

Was a weed

And the fruits were all spiney.

 

That would be as far

Enough to get past you

So you can be where you need to–

Behind me.

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