We split like firewood; I’ve seen it in movies. 
 One long thwack and we were clear of each other, clean. 
 I never thought I could feel so splintered.
  
 You fueled a lot of my fire. 
 Not with, dare I say, wilderness survival in mind, 
 but with gallons of unleaded gasoline, all tipped over,  
 pouring steady until the last air bubble popped. 
  
 It was all for show, “let’s see how high the embers go.” 
 I was burning every low hanging branch I could find, 
 sending smoke signals high in the air; “help me, I’ll die here.” 
 You pulled blankets from our shoddy tent and fanned the flames. 
  
 What’s one night longer? Throw another log on.
 I sat there and watched it turn to black ash. 
 I poked the sleeping bear and set it ablaze. 
 I tailed it into the woods, and there you were, setting a trap. 
  
 Always two steps ahead of me, a few more swings of the ax.
 I tried leaving once it snowed, but you followed my tracks.