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As I watch the last of your ashes fall
Through my trembling fingertips,
Please answer me this:

Is it hypocritical of me to abandon it all now,
After we’ve stuck ourselves in this muddy middle ground?
Is it incredibly immature of me to waste so much time,
Say a week or two of crying on the way home,
To finally get up and brush off the remaining dirt of your presence
And tune out the sound of your hollow words?

Yes, it has taken me time to get where I am
(A place that I still can’t seem to locate on any map)
But does that mean that my growth is not real?
Who is to say that any man's growth must be
Measured by his emotional bloodshed?

First stage is denial, the second is anger.
I drowned myself in the first one long enough
To know what it’s like to mourn someone,
To mourn the person you used to be and
The voice you engraved in my mind.

So then why must I change who I am the second you do me wrong,
When it will take you centuries to understand it yourself?
I am in no obligation to live by your rules
Nor dance to your music -
You’re dull, draining music.

And yes, maybe I stuck around longer than I should have
Because your warmth still lingered in the air.
Or maybe your soul died off long ago
while it’s only now that mine started to catch up.

Maybe I just wasn’t ready to unhinged my desperate hands from yours.
After all, I’ve never been very good at being alone.
But I am now.
And let me tell you,
Your ashes will never set foot in my home again.




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