The Day Of The Rebuff Poem by Raj Dronamraju

I received not one, not two, not three no thanks
Say it three times and your personalized darkness is released from its prison
Then I'll have a friend for a drink and a self-doubt session
Then I'll have a friend who volunteers to haunt me

That was not a kind necessity, rather a cleaving that should be so fast that it chops through in one strike
Innate psychic dismissal doesn't cauterize disappointment afterwards
Rather the stricken breaks out in hives and slams a fist against a kitchen chair

Terminal friendships, abortion of affection
Wiggle esteem and discard the hard feelings
Do you have some kind of a problem?
Or do you stare at everyone?

He called her sweetheart, she called me interloper, I addressed neither of them
I retreated to my room where the roses she refused delivery of wait - Dead they are and horrible they smell
There in self-indulgent misery, it feels like the first time
It feels like the first time in the career of a crash test dummy