He started
Comin'
'round
The day
You
Realized
You
Loved
Her,
A fussy
Little man,
A scolder,
A nag,
A whiner,
An angry
Parakeet
Fussing
Impotently
In the cage
Of the
Raw
Wound
Where
Your
Unwanted
Soul
Had been
Torn out.
You
Hate
Him.
The
Subtle
Tremble
In your
Voice,
He stands,
Always
Fussing,
Always
Worrying,
Nag
Nag
Nag,
Somewhere
Behind
Your left
Shoulder
Close enough
To hear,
Just
Out of
Reach
Enough
To avoid
A
Damned
Good
Thrashing
Were
He
Real:
"She doesn't
Like us!"
"Who cares!"
"She
Hates
Us."
"Sod off!"
"It's just
Like Cecily."
"Shut up, damn you!"
"You've
Killed her
Twice
Before,
What makes
This time
Different?"
"I said,
sod off!"
Nag-nag
Wrings his
Hands,
Impotently,
Eyes
Growing
Wet
Behind
Thick lenses,
As wet
As he,
No you,
Were in
Life,
"I'm so
Tired
Of pain…
Please,
Just…
Just…
Stop…"
You laugh
In your
Face
And do it
Anyway,
Even though
You know
It'll all
End in
Tears,
Proving
The little
Bit of yourself
You thought
Long dead,
Right
(Again.)