Isn't
it funny how I can look back
and look away
at the same sunny,
distorted memory?
How many villains have I made like you
the
unfair
how I twisted the world to hate
and cast you
sick
without ever knowing
I wasn't the hero I thought I
was
One scene and another
it's a habit, I suppose
to
relive the hardest things
like that image,
of grinding into the
dirt
with that smile on my face
(and my stomach twists
knowing
I made you ugly: what you could have been
without my
accusations)
I ruined it. I ruined you.
Was I so
cruel
to such an ill justified you?
and I was ugly in the
offensive
though basking in that self righteous updraft
that
kept me afloat all these years
And drifting down
all I've
got is you on my mind
though the ground's not too far away.
Your
pain
your point
how could I cultivate them irrelevant
how
could I come home to warmth and satisfaction
and accomplishing
you, picking up the pieces
All by yourself, you did
that
Dressed in gray.
Too much carrion,
too much
sickness between us
I can patch no wounds
even knowing what you
are
finally
And I can love no you
knowing what you are.
I
made you into a spire to curl my vine around
the scum to grow my
willow
I made this monster in your mirror
I made a villain out
of you.