But without you feels wrong and strange.
You were useless, yet demanding,
Your upkeep was outstanding.
I knew something was wrong,
Yet I kept you hanging on.
You required more attention,
Instead I let you go unmentioned.
Now the void is devastingly real,
Even the biggest bandaid can't conceal,
How bad things have become.
What's done is done.
I dedicate this poem to my fungi-riddled toe nail.
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