There hasn't been a day gone by since I first said this to you,
that my undying romantic dream is to respect and believe in
the terrible things you do. Last time I saw you blessed to touch
another human's heart when they believed you would remove
the rust you just stood in acceptance with palms open knowing
you would soon shut your hands. You're a trap for madness.
Blessed too, from birth to death, with a magic attracting the
most fragile, those mostly broken already. Those farther from
full than empty. Now and again I question if you know what
you're doing or if you're possessed.
Years later, you're still sitting and spinning where others improved.
Boys, toys, and nicotine mixed with THC in the air to breathe.
What mattered the most even to those who never spoke the words,
you let impress the stress marks on your couch. And here you
thought stretch marks and acne scars were the worst of life, and
now you've got stretch marks and acne scars, must be due in
part to the confidence you'd be no better off. Now you're no better
off, than you were before. Now it's five years on, and you've
learned nothing more.
I can say
Maybe I'd believe you
If you weren't
so prone to hard
stop/restart