It was wrong of me
to throw my problems onto you.
To tar you with my brush
to expect you to care
to need you to be there.

What are we but a by-product?
The detritus of the life we lead.
And who am I to lay this on you?
To demand more of you
To want a rock to cling to.

And so I let you go;
Cast myself off from your rock
Let the burgeoning waves
carry me far from you
so you will never need to know