Push them away with the whim of a wind
Until their stretched fingertips are irretrievable—
You are falling, alone in chasmic rage;
They need not suffer with your chagrins.
Draw away further until no one can ever reach
The dangerous flare that burns skin and town alike…
No harm, nor ache, nor hurt, nor pain,
Needs superfluously to cross their aureole smiles;
They’ll remain alright as long as you are not
And the sun will keep revolving in the absence of your breath.
Though if you only wished to express clamorous such
Contagious toil, in the faith that some empathetic mortal
Will understand, and hear you out, and actually listen—
How inconsiderately conceited and selfish of you.