When Both of Our Cars Collide

A bit of poetic prose I just spat out onto paper.

Stand on the edge, the edge of the fire, and light up a cigarette, isn't it almost a joke? A smoke in hell.....what's one more spark? Much like the spark I used to hold for you.....and yet now you could care less of my existance. Perhaps those like me should come with a certificate of authenticity. But I can't deny what I am any more than you can deny what you are....We don't come with certificates of authenticity. I respected you. I cared. I still care whether you live or die, but you could give two s***s less than you already do. Obviously my words opened up a wound, a chasm of epic proportions, and that's something you could never deal with. If only it was possible to sever myself from you, but that would be no more beneficial than chopping off my own hand. So for now I am still, I wait, and I wonder. I listen to the hot winds caused by a vortex nearby. Maybe i'll take a chance, because, after all, doesn't the monument read "Hope, Love, Faith, may they rest in peace, eternally"? Maybe you really don't care. Maybe I shouldn't care either, but for better or worse I am stuck with you. Like the vine that climbs the side of the wall of the palace nearby, the more you stray, the tighter they grasp. Let go, and I, like they, will slide away. Let go of it all, and give me some peace. Is it you who calls to me in my dreams? Are you the reason I cannot rest, cannot cope, cannot cry? Let me go. 

Goodbye, my butterfly. I may have touched your wings, but you can still fly. Fly the hell away from me, and leave me be.