i don’t want to be your friend

don’t give me your 

desperate attempts to reach out, connect,

make things right-

tell me that you think about me. 

the truth, like dead bodies,

always floats to the surface. 

you feel sorry and guilty and full of regret

at how we ended-

we all make our choices, 

choices that carry us from photograph to 

photograph 

you have made yours and it wasn’t me-

from the beginning 

this could never be 

anything

but 

over. 

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