Occasionally I think of you,

The Tyler Durden to my Marla Singer,

Before we'd become so jaded,

So fed up with the wayward world

That we sank into a pit

Of raging despair.

I remember the way we laughed,

The movies we watched,

The games we played

Before you desired only

To watch the world burn.

Now you've become the Joker,

And I'm Harley Quinn--

Educated, Emancipated, Enlightened,

Free from the constraints of my youth--

But you've stayed for the chaotic crusade.

In all those years you never realized

The cause you'd joined never existed,

An illusion created by those in power

To give a frustrated man a weary voice,

Echoing in a well of sorrows. Drowning.

Now I long for the carefree man

Who could watch animated films

Without living in constant fear

They might distort his staticky worldview

Or dissolve chains of toxic masculinity.

But that man is dead.

You are naught but a corpse

Whose ghost haunts me still.

At times I hear your subtle baritone,

Carried upon a stifling summer breeze,

A shadow of a memory following me,

Unshakeable, untenable, unspeakable.

It alludes to a forbidden passion,

One that would char our very wings,

Burning us till we can stand no more,

Shaking the foundation of churches,

Both spiritual and fanatically political.

So I ignore you, ignore these feelings

That crush my heart, my very spirit.

I attempt to banish all thoughts of you

Though our past hounds me still,

And I can't help but wonder:

Do you feel them too?