for being so un-okay, i'm in decent shape

It is like I want to say:

‘U R the one who got away’

But we both know that it's not
quite like that-

More accurately put: you’re ‘the one
that ran (as fast as you could, bag
packed in hand) away’

As if our relationship was a house on fire,
a sinking ship o

Jest practice for some dumb
marathon race

[With no first, only lots of last places]

You were gonna run some day-

I’m not alright but I’m doin’ fine
for the state that I am in;

For being so un-okay,
I’m in decent shape;

So much love; so much to say

Yet nobody to listen; nobody to give it
up to [where r u?]-

I just hope he’s worth it;

Actually, I don’t. I didn't. Never did.

Let’s not kid ourselves- we mustn’t begin
to get dishonest;

In verity, I hope he breaks your heart far
worse than you shattered mine, like:

Trillions of pieces flying through an infinite sky
line like moths bashing into lamplights
at night in a deserted dirty alleyway

That is so commonplace on Lost
Lover's Lane.

I pray someday he’ll keep you up all night
till you writhe in pain;

That you won’t be able to sleep- haunted by
memories y bad dreams

Of the way things could be, if only [if only,
if only- this Bud is for the lonely in love,
homie]-

I hope you get and/or become so alone in his
presence, so lonely [like me] that you pay
for it

Then end up catching an awful, unpronounceable
disease which is sexually transmitted-

I hope he brings you to your knees;

Praying so frequently that you tatter yr jeans,
bruise yr skin, then forget what yr askin’

God for, to begin with-

I wish you’ll cry every time your phone doesn’t
ring/your messages remain unanswered or

Aren’t even received

Just deleted immediately/upon arriving;

I hope that you too will beg
to be put out of yr misery

[To no avail]

I hope you falter and fall continually,

I hope you get crushed by the rock
that belongs/ed to Sisyphus-

I wish you fail-

I hope you scream,
I hope you wail!

I hope you too get stuck in
this fucked up prison/jail

For (and consisting solely
of) the perpetually
broken-hearted

Where the warden is ugly y mean yet
the wo/man of yr dreams-

I hope that, like me, you develop ‘broken-heart
syndrome’/this nasty unfortunate disease

And your body begins shutting down:

Organs failing; stomach acid building
up; so constipated so that yr finally
full of

Shit- literally.

I hope it/he
eventually
kills you

Slowly, from the inside out,
just like you’re killing me

And you become too weak to run, too frail to speak,
too achy to even shout for some type of release
and/or any relief

I want, wish, pray that when teenage kids are studying
for their SAT’s they will flip the Dictionary’s pages
searching for the definition of ‘bitch’ and see your
photograph

And then laugh

At your pain/face

I pray that under yr picture it’ll read in tiny black print:
your birthday-next week’s date; in essence, that

You will soon be deceased

Just like me-

So don’t you dare say that I’m being unfair,
darling!

Especially

When it is true that I spend every waking
minute praying for you.