Goodbye.

Tears,
artist’s brushes,
paint pictures,
beautiful ones,
they say.

But today,
tears
erase,
on my birthday,
they erase
you
out of my life.
They can’t travel
back in time,
for
they haven’t
known a time
when they did not
think of you.

Only
half an hour remains
before this
purging,
when
swathes of tears,
like white paint,
will run over
the beautiful sceneries
I created.
You were my muse,
my inspiration.
But
you toyed,
oh you toyed!
with this heart,
now
it is nothing
but
a shred in your fist.
Oh Plath, the great Plath!
This mirror
shows me,
I suffer
so much
I might be a jew.

Tears stream down,
run over memories,
dreams, aspirations,
Saline, divine,
align, malign
Yes, you malign
I’m pointing
at you.

These tears,
they’ll erase
and they’ll paint
pictures,
ugly
in remembrance
of what you did to me.
Oh dear Sylvia,
she is the hitler,
and I’m the jew.
The victim of the holocaust?

But
this shred
in your fist,
this bloody, red shred of a heart,
will forgive
but not forget
for oh you poor soul
it weeps for you
as much
as it weeps for itself.

I end
with
a calm
goodbye
and gratitude
for all
cherishable memories
before I
wipe them clean.
But wipe them as
I may,
they’ll not
be forgotten
I hope I’m
reciprocated
in the
same warm humanity.
But now
you know
it ends
like it never
did before.
I have
nothing more
to say
at all.

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