How did it get this bad?

I told you how stupidity is my forte, my ambrosia
How I’m good at making silly jokes at every turn
The same way you’re so adept at pouring away emotions in stanzas.

I have a folder named after you
One I filled bit by bit in my cubicle
Questions and quizzes I’d like to bring you
When you’re not busy clerking patients in the clinic
When you’re neither upset from the MTX
nor wanting to be left alone.

I stayed up late each night
Wading through our Whatsapp conversations
A ballroom we frequently danced in
To soak myself in all the little details of you
Your euphoria
Your misery
Your assorted nicknames
The number of times
you’re calling the police for all my antics
Before I call it a good day.

How did it get this bad?

I told you how stupidity is my forte, my ambrosia
But when my jokes got too unbearable it invaded your comfort
I stopped finding mirth in mundane things
Shut my train of thoughts with perpetual replay of Friday
The day I lost you

I never knew how to explain my curiosity
But when you left me barren with nothing but
a playlist of you, and you, and you
I quit being curious altogether
And when I threw away all these hows and whys I folded neat under my desk
They turned into vicious questions that backfire
Me and everything I have to offer

How did it get this bad?

When you stopped sending me texts in between odd hours
My conscience knew not how to respond
And so it battered itself from the inside
Searching for a rabbit hole through which to flee
Its own brand of withdrawal symptoms.

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