Out of nothing

Is it me?
my face, is it?
or my voice, that shoves?
is it what I say, that pushes you afar?

It's like being back in school,
all the pin-pointing,
harping about all the visible mistakes
and all that critical ire.


Away with it then,
the farce.
The farce behind the soft touch on my skin.
Away with it then,
the idea of you and me.
Away with it,
the time spent.
Away with it then,
the we and the us.