I’m not done.
You completed me,
I looked down, and you defeated me,
And you do not deserve another poem.
Not another one,
And yet here sits a ballad unwritten,
Frozen and unchiselled,
It is not beautiful.
And we have to ignore it, we have to
In these fumes as if we’re not scared to die,
As if immortality can be created from that space
You had no one but yourself to blame
For never hearing what I was shouting at the top of my lungs.
But the way you’re breaking my heart is something else.
When will it be enough?
Not last time
And not now.
All planes are grounded
And no metaphors are strong enough.
Get a backbone.
Send it my way.
One by one,
I will learn these lessons
As they were meant to be learnt.
One day, they’ll invent space-travel
To meet this time-travel
And we can meet in the middle,
Somewhere at the end.