Sixteen — sitting on the carpet —
The middle of this life of mine.
Sick to my stomach — out of place:
Surrounded by things serpentine.
I simply search your riddle face.
Ari, I’m simply sick of it.
There’s air but not space, it’s so tight;
You hug too tight and not at all.
I’m tired of being one-point-five —
I’ve loved you since the world was small,
Loved any torture you could contrive…
Enough — I’m weary of your spite.
I was born this day, some year past.
Today’s the day I learn to fly;
When I leave I hope you’ll miss me —
For all the times you made me cry,
All the times you’ll never kiss me.
My solitude, at least, shall last.
Unlike you, beastly thing unliked:
You sheep, wearing wolfish clothing.
Were you true to me, me only,
I would rob the world its loathing.
But false! To me! To you! Lonely
Though you are, you keep yourself spiked.
But your thorns are fake: you’re no rose.
Live under lock and they’ll have won.
You make to walk the world apart
From me — from you — from everyone.
Cling not to hurt, but sing your heart.
At least say it — your whole world knows —
Say, or I am flown: it’s the way
You can keep me, and forever.
When I fly, grab onto my wings.
Don’t worry. Not now nor ever:
Ari, we know beautiful things.
Say it. I’ve got you. Say you’re——
Just my friend. You’re only my friend.
Say once more. Repeat the reasons.
Let’s return to endless winters,
And let cold consume our seasons.
Ari, break my heart to splinters,
But keep our precious memories.
Sweep away the dust that enters,
And beat back the nostalgic freeze.
Get out, Ari — that we may mend.
I’m sorry. Our story’s reached its end.
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