Perhaps I'll pen a poem
to pacify the pessimistic
to proudly prod them past the point of passing on
perhaps I'm naive in pressing on the possibility that a poem
can salvage anything
perhaps I'm wrong and your not patiently impatiently
prodding your passing to sooner then it should
if you are I don't know what I'm supposed to do
I thought it was plain that i am present
and presently awaiting your prompt return from this preposterous plan
but i realize its not that plain
so talk to me
present me with your pain and stop causing yourself more
please put down the pretty and shiny piece
put that Godforsaken piece of metal down
and paint me a picture of your reasons
and pacify Pandora
pen a passage explaining this paradox of why you wouldn't tell me
put away your phantoms of pain
and accept my comfort instead

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