by Stephen J. Golds
I should have made her hate me.
When it was at the end of its course
and it reached that redundant kind of finality.
She told me she had never hated anyone.
Could never hate me.
I was too special to despise.
But hate is the tossed coin of love and
would have been preferable to the
vacuous white silence of space and time
and this love now that I wish was hate
hanging loose like a button on
a dirty stained shirt I am forced to wear.
Stephen J. Golds believes all the coolest people die and go to Limbo.
Emerge Literary Journal 