This is what I do.
I write depressing poems at two in the morning,
so I can never really learn how to forget you.
Somehow I knew the ache in my belly would never form be a swarm of monarchs
So with the aid of my left index and middle fingers I forced the larva out
and watched them flop about on that grocery conveyor belt.
... You were more interested in saying "no" when it was convenient.
which only prolonged the inevitable cirrus clouds in my head from colliding
Just.
A bit.
Longer.
Somehow by the grace of god a conversation began to bloom.
and I remember this because our words were footprints
that trailed down Northeast 15th Avenue.
You said, "I wish everyone was born with name tag's."
I replied "Yeah, but then there would be no mystery to anyone."
It's times like this I wish I could forget your rose red hair.
Considering all flowers have to die, so must our meaningless discussion.
And it's times like this I wish I had that little piece of plastic.
Because you didn't remember my name.
and the last words I ever said to you were,
"I think it's beginning to rain."
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
This is what I do.
I write depressing poems at two in the morning,
so I can never really learn how to forget you.
Somehow I knew the ache in my belly would never form be a swarm of monarchs
So with the aid of my left index and middle fingers I forced the larva out
and watched them flop about on that grocery conveyor belt.
... You were more interested in saying "no" when it was convenient.
which only prolonged the inevitable cirrus clouds in my head from colliding
Just.
A bit.
Longer.
Somehow by the grace of god a conversation began to bloom.
and I remember this because our words were footprints
that trailed down Northeast 15th Avenue.
You said, "I wish everyone was born with name tag's."
I replied "Yeah, but then there would be no mystery to anyone."
It's times like this I wish I could forget your rose red hair.
Considering all flowers have to die, so must our meaningless discussion.
And it's times like this I wish I had that little piece of plastic.
Because you didn't remember my name.
and the last words I ever said to you were,
"I think it's beginning to rain."
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