Drain/Kill/Spill
© Laura Craig Mason 2001

You drain me.
You spill me.
You kill me
         a thousand times
         I begged for change.
I wrestled
               with nettle
                and briar
to show you 
paths & gardens
that haunt your dreams,
but each time
you turned your back;
hung your head
and solemnly
walked back home.
You drain me.
You spill me.
You kill me.
I have no art left
            for you to
            manipulate and praise.
I have no paint 
            left for the portrait
            of our friendship.
I refuse
to use
my blood/sweat/piss/tears
for you
for this.
It is all
        I have left.
They are my last
of sacred things.
You drain me.
You spill me.
You kill me.
This act
             of helpless hurt;
             selfless shame;
             gratuitious guilt
             is old.
My dares
              go unheaded.
My plees
              go ignored.
My needs
                are unspoken.
You drain me.
You spill me.
You kill me.
This is over now
I need to walk on
to those paths
you only glimpsed at.
That that place
that illudes your dreams.
To the real friendships
of equal
participation.