Wishing you annually on your birthday, that ritual is now passe,
Penning a few lines, for you, here and then, about that I cannot say.
What used to stab, and wound and throb, now runs on an even keel,
The background hum of pain has died, behold the man of steel.
The yearly exchanges of wishes and notes, my tenuous link with thee,
Is finally brought to halt this year, I've set myself free.
I no longer need to scheme or brood, on what you'll say to me,
I'm a master storyteller now, you'll be what I'll like to be.
Its difficult for me, to be constrained, by the sobering reality,
-That my love may be, unrequited, sterile- Oh! spare me the pity.
And that's why I close my eyes to you, now you are no longer piercing or true,
They may call me names, or delusional, but over the cuckoo's nest I safely flew.
The more I try to catch your shadow, the more it increases my parting pain,
The moment my fancy reshapes you as a ghost, I'm back in control and at peace again.
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