“You’re doing my fucking head in!”
remember: it’s what you once said
sorting our mess: “I’m gonna tear my bloody eyes out!”
Must have been for real: where were they when we met up?

Vacant black holes, and where did your irises go?
You got still black eyes like a guy who smoked a lot of dope.
“I would kill or have you killed in a month!”
you wrote, but I think in our own way we had Fun.

Your hands, I snapped a picture quick.
But the scar at your heart, too real to peek.
Wasted, did you catch me checking out your tooth?
I wanted to pull your lip up like a dog’s, check the roots.

I was not in love, my darling
I was helping you help me.
We both used each other well, I think.
Knowing you, knowing me: we intended this,

Thanks for always being there, I wrote
“I delete most, read only 26% of your emails,” you joked.
Is it OK that I consult you like this?
“Yes, just frame your rambling into questions,” you said.

But where was your arm around me in real life?
Why did you fight; I was distressed, felt strife.
You came off immensely miserable, as if real dead inside.
But I came all this way to bring warmth to your side.

You are still in love, my darling
You were helping you help she.
You will continue using women, I think.
Knowing me, knowing you: I conceded,

Honey, I wear my heart on my sleeve
And yours came out every time over beer
Why don’t you marry her? I began to cheer
“Why doesn’t she ask me?” you jeered.

Oh, THAT game. Stuck in that old refrain
like the ABBA song with the same name
as this poem only the more deadly:
“Knowing Me, Knowing You”
ah, there’s absofuckinglutely nothing you both can do!
You heard the song, you know the beat
You’re stuck in the dead-end: defeated.

Helping you, I would have told you
My longest lover was just like you
Held onto the idea of ‘us’ for years
Drank like you drink, extinguish tears.

He said he gave all like an abundant refrigerator
But ooh, watch it ladies, the door’s closed forever.
“I’ll never have another love like you,” I’m flattered
But how about what I think, did it matter?

One partner wants to move away
And the one left behind cries “Betrayed! Betrayed!”
Get a grip yourself, make a move or move on
If not your sanity, from what else do you run?

Helping me, you told me to get a grip
Not be so insecure and to deal with my shit.
Said “Don’t Do The Crime, If You Can’t Do The Time”
And to shut up about my problems sometimes.

I didn’t ruin shit, but you know you did.
Agree to disagree it’s a matter of perspective.
If you had only let yourself feel, you’d see
I was there for nothing more than for …
Helping you helping me …
I’ll let the critics decide how selfishly
But in that, I would argue — lovingly.

© Sylvie Hill 2014