Life's Left - 10thDoM RoM An Extraordinary Discomfort

You.
You.
You.
It wasn't that long ago that life left me where I stand.
In the shadows of your words.
And worlds.
Where wishes live less freely than the airplanes they're made on.
But the spice and space were founded in those times.
When you were but nice.
The few and far.
Between me and you.
The passion between me and you.
Leads to an equal and opposite reaction.
Extraordinary in its discomforting gaze.
As I was frayed, torn and tattered, and ripped.
Into shreds I found myself worn, wan for your threads.
You.
Your threads.
Your bed.
Your moves.
Your strong stance.
Your dark empty glance.
Wondering where you are in there.
Wandering around in there.
Pleading as I stood on your stairs.
You just stare.
Uncomfortably numb.
It’s amazing how extraordinarily discomforting those eyes have become.
As you raise your gaze.
And ask me rhetorical questions.
Which I answer.
Because I don’t know questions are rhetorical.
But they are to you.
And you.
And you.
And everyone else it seems.
Except me.
Just you.
You.
And I left you where my life left.
On the stairs.
In that strangely clean apartment.
On the Main Street in our town.
Where I slid to the side.
And I was hit blind.
But it was better that way.
Losing a life in a few minutes.
Losing a friend.
Losing you.
Because you can’t see anything but yourself.
When you look in the mirror.
Just you.
You.
And you.
You.
You.
You.
You.
You.