To Whom It May Concern:

Me and mornings aren’t exactly
on speaking terms anymore.
Forever was never something I wanted
but mutuality was too much to ask so
I guess I’ll slip away again into
another non-descript October.
You know my father always said,
You’ll miss me when I’m gone,
and then he died at thirty six.
I should break my heart as a precaution.
And you don’t have a sense of
the sin of never living because you
don’t have any plans for dying.
You saw this, the thirst for life,
the need to relish. You knocked
me down and
so I hate you. I hate you,
and I hate all of this.