The Place I’m Going

there’s a place i go,
	weekly, at least,
where they call my name
and pull me aside and say,

“you don’t have to look;
 we just have to know.”

and so they know,
but who can be concerned
when i’m “perfect”?

they said it. not me.

you said it, too.
not with that word,
that lie, that concept
i resent,
but you thought it
nonetheless.

so in the place i go,
	daily,
where they know my name,
	and yours, too,
this fallacy continues.

i don’t need you to stop it.
i don’t need you
	at all,
even though i trusted you
	first.

you don’t give a damn.
you never did.

so why should you care
if at the place i go,
	once a week,
	where i always look,
they will know i’m falling,
	(continuously,
	 obsessively,
	 dangerously),
and still i won’t want
to be caught?

you shouldn’t.

so why should i,
in the place that we go daily,
habitually wander past your door
  (perhaps the long way to mine),
and hope that you’ll come out,
and catch me anyway?

i shouldn’t.

‘cause i don’t need you
to prove to me
that i don’t need to disprove
the lie that’s destroying me,
even though i’m destroying myself
to get there.
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