Closure. Poem by dave lessard

I never know with you,
whether or not you are
going to take my head
off or not;
you never were subtle about
how much you hated me
whether you still loved me
our love is rot.
Too much damage, too much pain
to ever get it, right again.
Unable to resuscitate my love
I left you to your own devices;
tired of "playing the game",
left weary by each crisis.
Now I fire back, all the wounds
that made me bleed -
all the bombs you dropped,
when clearly, there's no need.
There is comfort in my rambling,
but just for me, myself and I;
I just wanted to sound off -
before my time to die.