Let me punctuate you. Now.
A call to arms,
however late it may be.
You like me in all the wrong rooms.
two years listening to you
swallowing abuse and echoes
two years of coming to terms
with an incapability to
solve, save, surrender
(and thank you for the
parting reminder)
You like the wrong rooms.
instigated and taken by others
endlessly
family, friends you never
understood what these mean what
could we have expected from you when
I tried to become god?
You like me all wrong.
there is only one thing to discuss
pain.
there is only one commodity we have
one elephant left
in the room
worth trading.
pity.
How much of either do you have left?
You loved me.