when i fall in love, no, i don't want to write,
i want to be on the charm offensive,
i want to randomly cycle past her while she's
walking her dog, expecting me to not stop...
while i turn around... get off my bicycle
and walk her home, while she invites me in
and we sit and talk about...
you haven't seen Sunset Boulevard?
seriously?! while i roll my perfect rolled-up
ciggy... stating: oh... looks like i still have
it in me...
i want her... OVERCOME...
i want her to feel... INTIMIDATED...
i want her...
  and i  abhor writing when i'm:
authentically loved up... it does me little
good...
her dog can lick my ears...
i stared him down when he tried to lick
my face: no! we exchanged eyes...
he subsequently started licking my hands...
he licked the wounds on my knuckles
clean off...
so clean that they started bleeding: again...
pain? what pain?
pain is a pleasure for me...
i'm in conversation with my shadow for
the simple fact that i'm deprived of: dreams...
Freud could do **** all with me...
each night i go to sleep all i can conjure up
is an ABYSS...
a devoid realm of night and shadow:
by even these have a sense of form...
i... dream... up... conjure... NOTHING!
a darkness bound to a yawn...
i went out of my way...
commenting on her child's hand-writing...
i even read the boy's poem out-loud to
him... only recently i texted her:
apologies for coming across
so intimidating...
what was i going to say? that the burns
on my knuckles were self-inflicted...
that i was actually putting out cigarettes on
them rather than having
randomly incurred them while making pizza...
because?
i like the overload of sensation
from pain?
you... say that to anyone?
i enjoy, pain... you say that to anyone?
will you say those words to an executioner?!
should i be, your executioner,
would you feel more comfortable knowing
that someone... enjoys... being tortured
while at the same time prescribing it?
she changed her Whats-App picture from with her
with her son so her on her own...
those... white spots... on the rims of the eyes
where eyelids come about with
eyelashes... starry pin-points...
sure... her eyes appear well-spent on sleep...
but... they're glassy... it looks like
she was crying...
    
i'm in love... she's broken, she' damaged...
her ******* dog is licking my hand...
her son is reading me his poetry...
no, wait i'm reading it back to him...
what the **** is happening?!
no, this is not happening...
no, this is not happening!

    but i want to be in love! but this woman
is already used up on her  value...
she's a volcano that already exploded...
savvy?!
it's happening...
               these tired bones...
these tired effort of flesh are
coming to a realisation...
this can't... go on!

               there's clearly an: the end...
there's enough of the story to finally say:
that's enough! you ******* childish female brat!
enough! that's it!
i can't help you here.