Unnecessarily
I fought to keep us from ending,
certain the collapse
would shatter
what was left of me.
Instead—
silence.
A peace I haven’t known
since knowing you.
Was our love real,
or just a byproduct
of your mimicry
in the light?
Lately you can find me
curled in confusion,
reeling from what just happened
or what might.
I never thought I’d come so close to death.
I tasted it. Twice.
Like the base of your neck—
scentless.
Like the part in your eyes
that never sparked.
If there was love in you—
for me, for anyone—
it lived only as potential.
I sit awake, lights blazing.
I am afraid of myself.
Gaslit enough
to doubt even my own name.
If you told me I was Mitchell Rodney,
would I believe you?
I wanted warning signs.
I saw them.
I didn’t understand them.
A man at midlife
without relations of any kind—
should have been enough.
I’ve learned my life
was at least half a lie.
The pictures only partially true.
And I am not innocent.
I am, too—
an incomplete collection
of painful venom,
unnecessarily.
