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Karma: Cold.

I could have ensured a prosperous
life a decade hence.

Could have easily, so easily taken
your hand in mine
way back when.

Would have had a beautiful
family, ready-made
then, part of a package deal:
certainly no sweat
off my brow,

and now?

Now your fucking dead
to me. You would much rather
be than to bear the pain
of loose ends. Always needed
to march on into a new
chapter clean,
anyhow,

so we cut the cord.
Severed limbs.

In my hands awaited
a future I could have popped
like a pill, swallowed whole
and surfed on the buzz
till death, and don’t doubt
that it killed

me, but I had to try
to pave my own path
even if the effort failed
to meet its climax

by my last breath.

If what we had was real,
I know we’ll meet again in the long run,
though I have the sinking
sense you’ll be absent:

cold shoulder
till the end.

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