You tear me down, and I pretend that its ok…
The weight of your words distaining my soul,
like a Marxist sewing sorrow…
The thoughts of this pain…  tomorrow will they wain?
Its funny how the sorrow has a certain comedy about tomorrow…
Will it be better?
We waiver to ourselves, all the while we put our boundaries on the shelves…
I long for love, and one that’s unconditional…
but concealed is the stupid, for true love must be merely fictional…
By the mere fraction of dissatisfaction and let the folly fly!
Because I know, for I am a guy, so my feelings matter not…
So let the hatred soppers sop, like the lunch rush at your deli shop!
Let the fighting rue the day!
Send that hatred straight my way!
While I shelve another boundary hoping tomorrow will be ok…