Half of my personality
craves to live in exile.
Yet, unfortunately for her,
she is an incurable little know-it-all.
This makes her intended disappearances
a wee bit... difficult.
(A better description: impossible.)
While slumbering peacefully, she recieves a whif
of my other half's doings.
She purposefully ups and ends -
You can guess where it is she's going.
(She does know what she's doing... after all.)
I find myself in tears, undeniably hurt:
Bones bleeding, sould trembling -
All trampled into the unforgiving dirt.
"Is it a tad melodramatic we're being?"
I ask of me. "Indeed," says she
who knows how soon my upendedness will be leaving.
(Well, why come then? I ask of me.)
"Tell me all about it," she offers,
willing to listen, not to be convinced.
"It's been quite a while since
I've heard some worthy of making me smile."
(A little more sym- or empathy might have been contrived.)
I try to tell myself, to remember,
to feel again the pain and misery -
wrapped in the