This It, Take It All
Take this. And this. All of this.
And the other half too,
until I’m finally empty
and have no one to blame but myself.
(But I’ll still point at you).
The sun will leave me blind
as a wake up call. I’ll race into work
in high heels and clock in before nine.
The apartment’s maintenance man will knock twice
then leave. A patron will forget her car keys
at the counter, then curse next to her car.
And still, you’ll keep all of it, when I’m over
every shred of me.