I stand, frozen over the river
This is no fairytale, yet I know the end
Here I stand, holding hands with my new best friend.
I've known him less than an hour
But he'll be the last face I see
I wonder if anyone will know my fate,
If anyone will remember after this is all over

BANG.

As I fall, losing my soul and my essence to the wind
The pain begins to fade and I see
My certain fate in the water before me

This was it: our second chance.
It was the time to be better,
for me, for yourself, for the relationship
Yet you came into it the way I left
and my doltish optimism ignored it.
The first time was not an end;
it was a semi-colon in our sentence,
a thoughtful pause in a speech,
but not the applause, not the true end.
You think that this is another semi-colon
but I'm telling you, I feel it in my bones,
This is the period in our sentence,
The closing remark in our speech,
and what comes next is the eternal silence before the applause

Within the mundane confines of
each woman's work, you show up.
As toxic as the radon they stick in their mouth,
you give the next victim a sickly smile.
Not convincing enough to make them unaware,
but with a sweetness present enough to trust
You slowly sink into their heart stream
similarly enough to the eventual build up of chemicals
within the precise bodies of the mechanical clock painters

I thought we were on the same page,
Turns out we weren't even in the same book
Reading a classic romance, I stumbled across you and thought that this was it
While you only wanted to finish and restart your little Bildungsroman
The repetition must drive you insane

You say my book isn't thick enough, there isn't enough plot and that it's not what you want to read
But I say I like every inch of your book, it makes you think and it's just thick enough
You say my book won't sit well on your shelf, it's too different
But I say that it fits perfectly, your bookshelf needs some variety
You say that the happy ending in my book isn't what you want
But I say how do you know what you want until you've tried it?

I can bicker and banter, reason and fight,
but it won't change the fact that you are stuck on page 3 in your little novel
And you chose to tear out my part before actually reading it

There is not much to say about you
Except how circular your life is

Like an orbiting planet around the
Sun, you continue on this predestined
path without attempting to escape

But then when an asteroid of a girl
comes and tries to knock you out of
that unceasing bore of a life

You only absorb her essence into
your gaseous body and entrap her in
that mind-numbing orbit that you
cannot seem to stop making

I have fallen into a crowd of consumers,
from which I am not sure I will ever escape.
They seem to breathe life into me,
but in reality all they do is steal bits and parts of my essence.
They fill me up like an engine,
full of false hope, and then crash into me like a drunk driver.
There is no thought for any other,
nor respect for my wishes, and
soon I shall turn into the empty shell that floats in the ocean of life forevermore