They told me all was fair....they told me,
Now I dream of you, I dream of you amidst shells, and knives, and roses,
I wake up, in cold sweat, post traumatic something or other they call it,
I just call it that thing you did that day,
I walk around knowing that you have have been severed from me, but like the soldier who's leg got
cut off but still walks around with his phantom, knowing he has but one leg, yet feeling he walks
with two, I still talk to you in the mornings, I still have coffee with you, I still read you that book my
phantom, I don't write love poems though, this isn't about love, it never was, it was always war with
you, sweet, agonizing, abysmal, it was always war with you.