Am I hurt?
You ask
Oh Hell No!
I say

(You've only taken the last four years of my Life-
which I freely gave-and rolled them flat on the ground
beneath your feet
Then pulverized that mass into powder in the Mortar and
Pestle of your coolness and indifference to my Love--
Scorched that in the Kiln of your absence and scattered it
across the country--
In your search for Sonething neither you nor I know the
identity or existence of.)

And you ask
Am I hurt?
No
(but I an dying---a little)