This reply is not directed towards you.
You may come into it tangentially
But no one will look for you here, or anywhere,
Because you will disappear long before my words do.
Even as you sit there, twitching,
Wishing you could be rid of me,
This poem and I are moving on
Beyond your vacuum to a place we can breathe.
It is not sad, only slightly pathetic.
What you remember as sadness, I recall as ennui,
This poem and I agree that what you and I had
Needed no peeling to be left as stripped as driftwood.
Your type of talent has no place here.
It is free to fade away like the stars at sunrise.
It is too pale to compete with the coming sun
Of the one who has replaced you in my life.
You neither could nor ever did know me.
Look, it comes without effort or sweat,
These words that I beget in neat rows
Expressing nothing but regret for having met you.
Open your eyes and pause in your writing.
Look at the woman you are not talking to.
She has forgotten you because you do not matter
Whatever beauty you see in your own verse.
Look into those mirrors you beseech.
Listen to the silence in my goodbye.
Since it does not matter what I think
I will leave you alone with the poem that is not about me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem