It’s quite a sight
to see my machinations
dance before me,
and I’m not sure how to feel
when they call me to declare
how I’ve been dreaming.

I try so hard to forget my forgetting
and that maybe when I feel this way,
I can coexist with my desires,
but something tells me when I hear
a man pining,
that it wouldn’t be fair to project myself onto him,
no way.

They keep calling.

I haven’t the ability to trust a phone call
from a fleeting notion I shouldn’t keep.
Please forgive me, sir,
but I think it’s been too much to see
these characters dance to the images in my head,
knowing that reality
is much too far out of reach.

They say she has it bad,
Taking down the boundaries
She never really had,
Yes, it’s all a bit lethargic,
following what was said,
Trailing eyes and messages
and the overwhelming dread.

Let it down slowly,
It’s a phrase she has heard,
And maybe they’d realize her turn for the worse,
Lethargy, it’s an eight letter word,
But it rules the innards and the outer,
It’s just something she’s learned.

A wilted lettuce leaf, I am.
Look how weak every crease happens to be,
and how sad it is to see me,
limp and soggy,
Skin turned dark,
An unforgettable, unpleasant sight;
Such an unforgiving body, I have.

Go ahead and mourn all the things
that have, and can, and will be.
Lay flowers at the foot of the grave of borrowed time,
kiss the past her sweet goodbyes,
and rest assured the cycle always happens again;
another life gives time a new lover
who she'll take back someday.