I should have killed myself a long time ago

The moment we met

was clarifying beyond comprehension

—oxymoronic though that statement seems—

that everything I’d been

before you was comedy,

while everything I’d be after equals tragedy

How am I to go on pretending

—now having looked you in the deepening—

that I was ever anything more

than some obsessive, supporting role

in your bejeweled chaos?

I sought to give you second sight,

but I’ll be lucky to give you

lackadaisical leftovers;

forever seeking any meager scra...