I didn't even try to restrain you.
I could have grabbed you by the wrists
but I didn't want your knees
to come into play
so I let you pound on my chest
with your fists and with tears in your eyes.
I deserved the beating.
We stood by the swinging kitchen door
and it was over.
You were using all your might, though,
screaming, crying and hurt.
I was leaving, yes.
I already had something lined up.
It wasn't going to work out so well
but I didn't know that yet.
And I didn't care.

There is a place
where hunger and reason
collide and split the mind,
where we do things that make no sense.
They say it's a blood flow problem,
this terrible
smallness
of men.