Styrofoam around my heart; a cardboard box around it,
To pack away memories of love. Crustacean lips, for every after
Taste of kissing; once of fishing for the one- that illusive catch
Still with the selfish desire to claim someone as my own, alone-
A greed like cigarettes staining fingers; crying only to myself
But never counting those tears in the broken mirror, of a bathroom
As this hubris of a man, is quite humorous;- truly starved of direction;
Yielded in such a dishonest method. A chance of, “shooting your shot,”
A posing act of perhaps creating your own weapon to **** yourself
Parlour tricks, for the conformality of society- a human preference
At this point. These unspoken rules, carefully set down: find someone,
Get married, do your purpose to multiply, work diligently to maintain
Appearance/experience memories together; as from finding love as
One being single, to leave those you loved mournfully single;
As only those set apart, ironically get to die together. Oh, how
Wonderful would such a pension to love be- but not often given freely.
