What if it was me, not him?

He’d be here and I’d be gone.

They’d let me go.

 

He’d be the focus of their kind concern,

a freezer full of family stews.

He would stay,

so I couldn’t go,

and, green, I’d watch,

cling on with vaporous tooth and claw,

he’s mine, echoing in their heads.

Pain driven I’d find my way inside his head through artery and vein until,

we’d both be dead.

So why hasn’t he come for me?

 

What if it was me not him?

And he was shedding me?

betrayal hissed across the snow with bin bags starkly black on white,

He’d glance up and wouldn’t know.

 

What if he found a new wife?

A knife cuts fresh my flesh.

 

I won’t go there,

won’t dare,

won’t bare my skin again.

 

And if he couldn’t come with me,

Would I wish him well?

Wishing well,

Fantasy,

That he’s still here.

 

But it was him, irrevocably,

And empty as I am he doesn’t want me now.

No power to turn things back.

He’s gone,

I go on.