I don’t like you.
Yet how commonly
is my adoration
called upon
to sooth your troubled
waters.
You set sail without me,
and I’m happy.
I wanted no life
on turbulant seas,
but why do you call?
Echo for me
to give you–not a life line.
Not another boat
or to call the life guard,
but for my adoration?
How are flimsy affections
going to save you
while you’re tossed
to and through
on the ship
I didn’t even bother
to remember the name of?
“For blood!” you cry.
“The sake of blood!”
Do you want on land
or not?
“But love me!
Or you are cruel and damned!”
Perhaps, I am
dry as the shores I stand upon.
But then, you were the one
who set to sea,
without looking back.
If you need help,
say so.
But I don’t
like you.
Author T.S. Lowe 