My sadness I reserve for things equal its worth. You are so low to me you are not even worth my pain nor grief. You are a wound that bleeds salt, burns away the flesh not to heal but to sting. If I dared wish the worst I’d wish it all upon you. I detest all that I remember loving. All that I remember knowing. If the earth opened up beneath your feet I would take a shovel to the earth. Leave and stay left, lost to what hole you choose to live out the rest of your shallow life inside. Never a thought or word to be traced to me again. Disappear; more vanished than if I were once to know you had appeared to vanish. And may new things grow over everything like grass by a forgotten grave. The undercurrent of all my love was my hate, which was the source and reign of my passion. I must sing to be rid of all trace of you in me. Like those men who will suck the venom from the blood after a snake or spider bite before spitting it out. With you, my song will suck out this foul disease from me and spit it out on to some pavement like a cigarette or coke can thrown from a car window on to the street. I will cease singing when I am well and when my love is dry. I sing to vent my pain and hate, like the air released from a deflating mattress, or a radiator that turns cold and needs to bleed. I grieve for a loss that never arrived. I took on those years and only see myself. Even in what was in my motivation and action seemed to another, it is myself. If you lived without my living, the events would not have happened. I had a relationship with myself. I raised in my life some of my proudest moments. To which I owe to myself alone. You are no more remembered than the trees of the woods that surround that house in which I lived. Those were my solitudious years. It is foolish to name a companion. I should rather name the sun each day. I would turn you in to a tree, mute and rooted, that I may turn away from and lose amongst a woodland. Let time and chance take their natures with you. If I sank this tear it would take seed in earth and raise your tree, and stay rooted in the place that fell the tear. And for the anger of my grief, would turn the leaves not green but red.