You child, in your ridiculous armour.
You missed your chance, little girl;
go cry on someone else's shoulder:
I am killing you in writing now.
It has become necessary. Your eyes
no longer pierce into my dark places
as I have no dark places. Your sensitive iron
has peeled away, but no white light shines
through. You are still a friend, and all I said
still stands, but the butt is not the shaft;
you are lead, leaden, immovable.
Fuck you: I am no alchemist.
There are others in your place, a trinity,
each far better, far more open, more
mature - each would serve me an eternity
of happiness, and I them. But you would
put ruin on me, curse me, desert me.
So I am rubbing out the girl I used to draw.
The burn on my side, through which my heart once
slipped, hot, and pierced the skin,
has healed. There will be no fire to burn this charcoal:
I do not want to make mine a coal. So hello