Am I Hurt?

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)