Art Gephyr


Paralysis comes.

Should I go or not?
And then I remember,
I was not included.


Again he is the damsel in distress.
Distress over his choices.
Again I have to be strong,
a knight in shining armor,
but with a bounty on my head.

The tables turn
and in my need
I am denied.

He cannot
because he is busy.
He is always busy.

He will not
because he is stressed.
He is chronically stressed.

He never called to even say...
He barely writes a pithy line...
And when it comes it hurts.
Needles at a soft underbelly
separating the ribs
twisting at the heart
tears streaming down.

In his pleasure for pain
Hate is Love.

How deep runs his loathing,
or lack of empathy,
or confusion from non-experience,
bad models,
pop psychiatry?

What does he hope to accomplish?

I return his spite with my own,
and feel my spite reflected back.
He forces upon me
a label of crazy.
This is not how I want to be.
Not how I wish to live.

It can never return
as it was.
Worse, what was
was never real.