The Final Say

Never certain how to classify
the shedding of a private turmoil

Even if a tragedy
is born of love,
the wound
of the immediate blast
is still a product
of that initial movement towards it

Only it's been manipulated
over a decade,
so many curves
on a road unmaintained
rife with pot holes

I wanted my final days
to be with you,
having suffered at its hand,
one too many times

I don't want to do it ever again

Every time I see you
lighting up at the mention
of a future without me,
I slide lower into the paralysis
when I should be going out the door.

In true masochistic form,
more worried about you than me,
you keep talking
and I am a hostage to every thought,
your constant listener

I have what I want,
except your willingness
to see any hope in us

I left my expectations
in the caskets of the dear;
aware too young
that the true champions
don't always get the luxury
of an expansive lifetime

But remember,
you say this will be tough on you

I'm the one who has to go,
and that little girl will see it that way, when she no longer gets dad to put her to sleep every night,
when he would have given anything/and gave up everything to keep things intact.

But you always get the final say,
and I'm really done hearing it.