A Confession Poem by Cailey Martin

I said, but did not insist–
You took your own initiative.
From whence this utter undoing?
The most futile of artifacts remain:
Doubts, collecting like rainwater in jars.
A collective failure, at best.
I watched you chip away at yourself,
Rubbing out limbs like stray marks.
You are not a mistake.
I wish I had more love to give–
I would have sold my soul.
But you’ve been out for so long,
I can hardly make you out.
God, I’m afraid of leaving you.