I want you gone.
Cleaved neatly from my life
trimmed away like a strip of fat,
in the shape of forgetting.
The way you store your little violences
until i’m at my weakest.
Insistent as a wound
or gun in the womb.
Your steely hardness leaving me cold.
More disease than denouement.
I had only hoped for a sudden and gentle end,
but when one thing breaks we all follow
to those places we cannot be found.