psychic hotline

I can sense it, you know,
when you’re thinking about me.
even from miles away.

I was minding my own business
when I started to dream
strange daydreams
in which the way we weren’t
wasn’t killing me by degrees.
I felt a longing that I cannot
explain, because I’m so
over you. I really am.

but suddenly the last time
we really talked – when I felt
the spark – came unbidden
into my head
and I saw your eyes
twinkling into mine
in my mind’s eye
and tears leaked from
my real eyes onto
my pillow and
those stupid useless
feelings tried their best
to rise from the dead,
shambling and ill-made
like zombies conjured by
an amateur necromancer.
then the spell broke, it faded
like a fever dream,
like a fit of madness
and I was myself again –
the very self you didn’t want
when I was available.

look. you had your chance –
I gave you about a million
of them, to be honest –
and you blew it, over
and over. for
whatever reason
you claimed you
didn’t love me
that way, the way I
needed, and now
I love someone else
and he loves me back
and for the first time
in a long time,
I’m happy.

so don’t bother
trying to call me
on the psychic hotline.
I know better, now,
than to pick up.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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