I owe it to myself to keep this brief.
I willed you into a recurring dream
But realize you were just
a nightmare I outgrew.
And I’m glad you’re gone but not thankful, because you’re not worth that gratitude.
And intentional or cosmic,
Your new moon is not poetic, nor this inversary.
None of your apologies are good here, Especially half-hearted ones. And in classic form, they aren’t even really for me.
I sleep like a babe without them.
Take them to your grave and
Sleep like you’re dead.