Plan B

I hope you understand
I had to escape,
But I would have
Loved you fiercely.

What they don’t tell you
Is how ashamed you are
Asking for the box.
As if your morality
Is decided by a pharmacy.
As if they expect you
To eviscerate the homeless,
Scavenging the innocent
As if your heart isn’t
Devoid of home enough.

What they don’t tell you
Is how you will
Constantly be reminded
Of what you did
And what was done to you
By the deep visceral cramping,
Your lofty fortress crumbling
Both for you and for her.
Oozing her cerebral cortex.
Her southern sweet tea freckles.
Her alien memories.
Her benevolent stem cells.

What they don’t tell you
Is how you become anesthetized
For undivided lifetimes.
Not from the storming
Of your mangled territory.
But from the seclusion
That befell in your hiding corner.