my dove

The time will come when I let go of you. I will let you free like a dove, except you are not beautiful like one. Your insides are rusty and stained, and your soul is covered with the filth of hate, you are ill. I will let you go because I've always been the magician, manipulating your feelings so they don't point their sharp teeth at me. Hiding them in hats and finding them behind ears. But I've grown tired of this manipulation. My self respect is diminishing, and I need my sense of self to hold on to when I lose the rest of everything I love soon. So, I need to let you go. "Are you mad at me?" "Am I a burden?" My dove, I lie and lie and lie, for your sake and for mine, yet no matter what I do, you are always the death of me, you always chew my soul out. How will I explain it to you my dear, my dove you will be free, you will be free from the shackles of my hurt and of not understanding it. Then, and only then, will I have not lied to you when I say "it's okay." Fly away, my sweet dove, wherever the world takes you, fly until you forget me with these two long, bitter years.