Leaving... Poem by grace mariner

You'll pack up your clothes...
your furniture...
and your dog.
You will go, without any thought of what you are to me.
Do you know the wreckage you'll leave behind?
The gaping wound?
The scarred terrain?
And the demons are flying in my head,
whispering their obscene liturgy into this ancient ear.
And it will go, as it always goes.
With critical words and a condemnatory eye.
And I will be grateful for the time we had and the feeling you gave me,
as I curse you for not loving me.
I will punish myself for being so foolish.
Who could love such a damaged thing?
Another cruel tease...