You’re tired of me. I know.
I sense it when you look at me.
You can’t hide, and I don’t want you to.
— Well, maybe I do. Sometimes —
I see it in your eyes; you believe I’m the source
of all your problems.
I don’t know. Maybe I am.
This morning you gave me that look…
like I steal your vitality, your color;
like your blood is drained, and
I’m the one who made the crack on…