it's just that
when we are laying in the crumpled sheets
and your belly is folded into my back like the tide folds into the
sand


i keep thinking:

this is the most important art i'll ever make

Unfortunately I cannot truly say I am over you

it's not true, you know it too.
You know me too well, it's too true.

Your believable stupid lies
I was stupid to believe.

Your eyes follow me across a room
Across a room I follow you.

Pathetic. Regret it. Forget it.

I can't.

I'm under you.

She's told over and over
it's her fault
her talk, her reaction
her action, her likes
dislikes, emotion
she's told it's her fault
she thinks it's her fault
it's who she is
it's her fault
she's told it's an overreaction
she's told it's not her fault
she's told it's out of her hands
it can't be her fault
she is so nice, and wonderful
and fun to be around,
she starts to think
it wasn't her fault
that life is different
she believes that
she is not at fault
that she couldn't stop it
but that it isn't her fault
but then it starts
to come right back
the same comments
start to be repeated
not to the extreme
yet
but it ends up, after all
it is her fault

Between us, tangled wilds, and through that, a deep ravine – each standing on a
mossy bank with river in between; I say “It's early morning and
the world is wet and green – I'd like nothing any better than
for you to bathe with me. I'll meet you in the middle, like I've met
you in my dreams, and either you'll get ***** or I'll finally come clean.”