Spotty Logic (spottylogic) wrote,
Spotty Logic
spottylogic

leaving Him again

so, is that it? He says, and stirs His coffee,
swirling the cup around. yeah, i say, and look
at the cup. a couple drops of beige hit the
table and spatter. He rubs them away with
His elbow. i think, that's going to stain the linen,
because its a harmless thought, and He takes it
with so much cream, who'd ever know?

I thought we had something, He says,
and i still can't look up. you used to sing to Me.
that was a long time ago. people change. people
grow up. you didn't say I was going to be a phase,
He says, and tries to hold my hand. I pull away,
and bring crimson with me. I got these for you,
He says, showing Me his hand. i bet You say that
to all the guys. that's not fair, He says. i told
you, i wanted a personal relationship with
the divine, i say. i'm tired of sharing You.
what do you want? do you even know? He says,
and more coffee on the table. should I be a
father figure, or a compassionate co-sufferer, or what? you
never even tell Me what you need to have a religious
experience.

be reasonable, You always make it about Yourself,
i say, trying not to tear up. this always happens.
His eyes are brown and bottomless and i know
if i saw Him start to cry i could never go
through with this, but we'll both be stronger, we
can both move on. this isn't about You. it's
not even about us, its me. I can't get all
dependent on You. I don't need a savior, I need
a partner.

you make it sound like you've already got
someone else, He says. it's not like that,
i say, and draw a line through the coffee. i just think
maybe You couldn't handle it if we were both divine.
but you never gave me a chance, He says. I can be
Brahman for you, if that's what you need. it's your
power trip, not Mine. I can be Pan for you. hell, we can
both be Pan. everything is Pan. let Me in, I can be the god
you want, just tell Me who I am.

i don't know, i say, and take another hit
of the cold, cheap coffee. it is 12:30, and
we are having the same fight, our only fight.
the waitress tops us off, and the half-caff is
the color of his eyes.
Tags: poetry
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