followthrough

   you treat me like this is highschool,
things will be fine
   if we can sit next to each other in english,
     clasp hands in that hallway beside the lockers,
         exchange white rose for chaste dedication boutonnière
     homecoming together,
         not-dancing in uncomfortable shoes
   that were never our style...

   eternal fifteen-year-old boy when
i need
         a man


     (self-reassure:
         i am strong
   enough to pronounce ultimatum law,
     step away, away,
         deep breath--)


         but i cannot stop shaking, these
     fingertips hard-pressed against eyes
   'til i see crimson,
         shut so tight against stifled sobs that
     the cascades fade to ink-black
   faster than i can't breathe

i want to scream hoarse my
         rage against this dying
     slow-fade decline,
   this dedicated apathy,
     your blind self-assurance of your golden touch--

         i want you to listen to me!
   answer my questions,
     tell me you love present-tense-me-now, not my
potential
         --and i am so tired of potential--

   i want definitive yes/no,
     concrete verb-noun
         not muddled anecdotes,
   not metaphor that loses us both
     in labyrinthine ambiguity before
subject-change
   and goodnight
         so hurried that before i can even realize to stop you
you're gone--

     i want something more,
         solid unconditional tender--

i want so much that i'm darkly terrified i
   can't have.


         i want the ability to hate you,
   because that would make this hurt actually
     bearable,
         would bleed the poison from these fangs
     coldly embedded in my sternum,
         this nestled darkly and sickly warm--
things would be so much easier..


   (i am, i--

             am i strong)


         i don't want
  to have
   to follow through.