Nothing

This one was part of an exercise to complete the beginning of someone else's poem, in this case, Katherine Foreman's "Washed Away."

Nothing

Nothing's changed 
except me
& the facts
& the sadness
I didn't mean to start.
But it feels different
now you've said
it's wrong,
& I can finally feel
your point.

Everything you asked for 
I gave, save for the few, odd
fuck-ups—granted, that ONE
was huge—Pandora
opening the box big.
But were any so fatal,
so final to warrant
such contempt, such
abject disdain?
What can I do to get you back
in joint?

It stings
that I have fallen 
out of your favor,
that the adoration
that once shined
in your bright eyes
for me has dulled,
like fish dead too long
& knowing
that every word
I write for you,
every deed done,
no longer carries
weight. I might
as well be blowing
bubbles & watching
them pop
when they touch
your prickled skin.

Your love for me
has been tainted,
painted by my procrastination,
flavored by my apathy
& I can buy you
lots of pretty things,
& shiny rings
& gossamer wings
to complement
your angelic nature,
but none of that will change
how you feel, right now.
Nothing will change,
except me,
& the facts,
& the sadness.