“…Then months in,
as I started getting deeper, peeling back the layers,
the bloom wilted, and all there was was rot –
rot I have no tolerance for.
I will not service the anemic.
I’m too old to have compassion for the fragile.
This is life – man up.
I’m not his redeemer –
and he’s a clutter
of self-indulgence and fluster.
Our same wavelength was pure surface.”