Oh the irony
When I called you the guy
Whose music saved me
And now some days I nearly die
And right now I curse your name
And I think, wherever you lie
I hope you lie and feel something the same
Like I, so exhausted I can't even cry
I asked for a bit of kindness, that is all.
And then I remember how messed up you are
Already, uncharitably, and charitably, I fall
Into the comforting thought that so far
And further, you're punishing yourself
And that I could have tried to help
But I'm helping better by focusing on myself
And leaving you to your own quiet yelp
Into the empty world you framed it well to be;
And I think, Stuff it, I deserve far, far better
And not even from you, just generally
And one day I won't blame you, still bitter
As you are, transcendent as I will be -
I wish I could say I felt you deserved my pity.
Just getting the mad feelings in my chest and head onto a page.
He could have tried harder;
perhaps he did his best;
his best wasn't good enough:
put the matter to rest.
(For now)
