Somewhere Between "Abaft" and "Abate"

August 3, 2016
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To desert.
To withdraw from.
To leave completely and utterly.
Seven letters and three syllables, but it always sounds like you leaving –
slamming doors and insincerity.
So desperate for freedom that you blindly took an axe to your own family tree.
Memories swept under rugs of distance.
You tried to cleanse yourself of guilt, but you just washed your hands of me instead.
I’m still pouring down the drain.
Vowels soften the endless blows of each goodbye.
Severed ties reconstruct themselves into heart strings, wrapping around your ankles
and pulling you towards the exit ramp.
It turns out blood is just as viscous as water.
Lines curve and bend in a peaceful manner, but still hack at my trachea as they leave me.
When you taste blood, stop.
Leave me stranded;
a hitch-hiker.
But know that my arms are getting tired.
Run away from me and find happiness at the finish line.
I am an empty house – you evicted yourself.
Windows boarded, roof sagging.
Your departure began my demolition.
So, you can erase me from your to-do list.
You can slight my every creak.
To leave completely and utterly.
To withdraw from.
To desert.

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