I'M Finished Now, Next? Poem by Benjamin Feliciano

I'm feeling more and more like less and less to you in this web I've weaved of improbable romance.
A stalemate of sorts as this dance draws to it's close:
I could never tell you, so you could never react.
Do I damn what is for the unlikelihood of what could be?
This is fact colliding with inevitability.
Corroding the plans one constructs in the perfect world of their mind.
Flee the former phantasm of forcefully forged attraction.
And escape to the endless ebb of the tides of thought and philosophy.
I seek to sojourn upon a simple day of rest from all that ails.
Covered with carks so cantankerous, my callow cries echo back alone.
I am alone.