You, 

made me believe

that maybe we could 

achieve 

some picture-perfect peace

to relieve, release; to ease

our anxieties, undeniably

the parts of us that were diseased

our tormented entirety,

oh how it reeks, this irony

that maybe we could be free

too blind to see

there was no vacancy

no vacancy for emotions that

had no agency, amazingly

abrasively, we returned to

being strangers in the streets

like two opposing ships at sea

the beasts but not the bees

like ghosts who would not grieve,

the gifts that we received,

that day that we, conceived

this wicked web we weaved.

a melodramatic make-believe.

how prepubescent

juvenile, infantile,

without blessing,

the next best thing.

Inexpressive, undeniable

inattentive, unreliable,

wreaking havoc through

speaking words so viable.