I try to find something more to talk of.
“Okay then,” is the indicative sending off,
“Speak to you soon.”
The words linger, they cut me short of
a million nothings I crave to declare.
What more would I say anyway,
“I’m in a bad place, and I still covertly
blame you because I’ve not the testes
to blame myself.”
That wouldn’t go down well. Not again.
It’s like converting God to the Big Bang.
My world is determined by neither.
My God is him and an atheist is how
I’ve come to be.