I wish I had it in me to be surprised.
I told myself I believed you, I was lucky,
You were constant, you were safe.
I scratched and tore at the mosquito bites
Even as I began to tear at myself,
But you stepped in the anthill, and we marched side by side.
It was, I suppose, too perfect.
Some presumed what we meant to each other,
Others presumed our eventual fate--
I wish both of them hadn't been right.
I wish I had it in me to be angry.
You told me you were constant, you were safe,
I could trust you, I was loved.
We'd throw ourselves away for each other a hundred times over,
If only it would solve anything.
We both nearly did, and pulled each other back.
I always feared someday I wouldn't hold tight enough,
But in the end it was your hands that slipped,
Slicked with holy water, dropping mine to pray
To a god you say loves me, but hates who I am.
I wish I could blame you.
I wish I had it in me to be distraught. v
But the words are being wrenched out
Not from the passionate lava of rage
Or the desperate depths of despair,
But the blank, sucking mire of numbness.
You, of course, ascend above the foul swamp,
Delegating the burden of lifting me free
To a god I've never believed in.
Your crucifix glints harshly as you rise,
But the pendant you gave me slipped and broke long ago.
I wish it were anyone's fault but gravity's.