Jan 9
Many days go by, many nights come through, when I haven’t the faintest, slightest inkling of you. I rest my head easy, hardly do I become queasy, over the memories of what made my love for you so true. Have I ever felt blue, when pondering you? You bet your bottom dollar, though don’t expect the remotest holler, even on the nights when I’m mildly missing you.
How could you, do me the opposite as I have done to you? How could you do the things that I could never do to you? What makes you, so tamelessly shrew, and fail to miss me as I have missed you? What could I possibly do, to know that it could be true, that you have treasured me as I have treasured you?
That’s why I was through, because the moment I found you, you never made me feel as grand as I tried to make you. Complete as you’ve made my heart, you had a particular knack for tearing it apart, and that is why it is left shattered in its own aortic goo.
That’s all on you. That’s forever what will make you the best and worst of you. To be so ruthless and nonchalant with the damage that you do, and play it as though you had no idea that was all you. Now I’m left blue, pretending to be through, when all that I’ve sacrificed was due to this idea that I had of you. To slave in an asylum, to be a lawman and a wild one, a future as bright as a bullet shining out of a gun. That was all for you, my thoughts on tangoing as two, for the rest of our unhappy lives that would have been happier, if only you knew.
Who exactly are you? Who were you to this man who is now blue? Was it your pleasantries, so few, or was it a universal coup, toying with my hopes and dreams, of meeting and ending up with someone like you, someone I thought I knew?
My head is now a zoo, filled with starving animals and poo, moaning and groaning over this animalistic swine flu, that pillages my spirits and slices me in two, all from the memories that lead me to missing you. But I told you to shoo, after your silence asked me that for you, many moons of endless begging for anything to come out of you. In solitude, I’ll watch the drops of the morning dew, condense on my windowsill as I reflect on the person that came from you.
To love such a love, I have experienced so few, the dreams of this young man, who has dreamed a little of you, where I am kissing those sweet, darling kisses of you, in my head as I recall, on the nights when I’m missing you.
How could you, do me the opposite as I have done to you? How could you do the things that I could never do to you? What makes you, so tamelessly shrew, and fail to miss me as I have missed you? What could I possibly do, to know that it could be true, that you have treasured me as I have treasured you?
That’s why I was through, because the moment I found you, you never made me feel as grand as I tried to make you. Complete as you’ve made my heart, you had a particular knack for tearing it apart, and that is why it is left shattered in its own aortic goo.
That’s all on you. That’s forever what will make you the best and worst of you. To be so ruthless and nonchalant with the damage that you do, and play it as though you had no idea that was all you. Now I’m left blue, pretending to be through, when all that I’ve sacrificed was due to this idea that I had of you. To slave in an asylum, to be a lawman and a wild one, a future as bright as a bullet shining out of a gun. That was all for you, my thoughts on tangoing as two, for the rest of our unhappy lives that would have been happier, if only you knew.
Who exactly are you? Who were you to this man who is now blue? Was it your pleasantries, so few, or was it a universal coup, toying with my hopes and dreams, of meeting and ending up with someone like you, someone I thought I knew?
My head is now a zoo, filled with starving animals and poo, moaning and groaning over this animalistic swine flu, that pillages my spirits and slices me in two, all from the memories that lead me to missing you. But I told you to shoo, after your silence asked me that for you, many moons of endless begging for anything to come out of you. In solitude, I’ll watch the drops of the morning dew, condense on my windowsill as I reflect on the person that came from you.
To love such a love, I have experienced so few, the dreams of this young man, who has dreamed a little of you, where I am kissing those sweet, darling kisses of you, in my head as I recall, on the nights when I’m missing you.
I said this aloud as I finished this poem “**** this stanza ****.”
