I want to scream

in my anguish!

Tear out my hair!

I want to wash my eyes,

to wash my brain

of what I see

of what I read.

You write about her

to her

She writes about you

to you

An insipid volley

of erotic desperation.

Am I sick in the head?

I must be


through the torment…

through the blinding red

of my anger

my intolerance…

I’m still left


that I was her.