won't be different
you will fix your crooked poster
she will say you're funny,
he will cut in line for lunch
you will trip while walking
you can fight it, you can run
sooner or later you will be alone again

so you climb on your roof and scream
to the moon, that silent son of none:
"it's not my fault
  it's not my fault"

he stares back, unforgiving:
"tomorrow will be a new day
  you will count the paint marks on the ceiling
  he will look at her and smile,
  she will call you friend
  you will say something wrong
  laugh if you want, cry if you must
  it makes no difference to me"

he tells you he will come again,
& in all of this, the question lingers: