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Let me punctuate you. Now.
A call to arms,
         however late it may be.



You like me in all the wrong rooms.

        two years listening to you
        swallowing abuse and echoes
        two years of coming to terms
        with an incapability to
        solve, save, surrender
        (and thank you for the
               parting reminder)


You like              the wrong rooms.

        instigated and taken by others
        endlessly
        family, friends you never
        understood
what these mean what
        could we have expected from you when
        I tried to become god?

 

You like me    all       wrong.

        there is only one thing to discuss
                                                 pain.
        there is only one commodity we have
        one elephant left
                            in the room
                                   worth trading.
                                                  pity.
        How much of either do you have left?

 

You                   loved             me.