Jesus, boy, you can't lift me up,
then tear me down.
Cuz you're not around
and we're both too proud
to make it up to each other.
well, fuck that.
I'm done trying, because I'm done crying
(or, rather, done wanting to weep, or sleep, or eat,
or wait for you some more.)
and I don't know who that hussy is,
but I don't feel bad feeling bad about her
(I'll think of a reason later.)
maybe I was too loud, too rash
too fast for you.
I keep meaning to ask,
but the moments fly past
and I want just a bit longer before uncovering the truth...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
?
you know how, especially in summer, your emotions run away with you? and EVERYTHING is cataclysmic with fifteen hidden meanings and the world is conspiring against you, because you're hot and tired and lonely? and there is one person or thing in particular you grow fixated on, and it crosses the border of obsession, and then you're really miserable, so if you're me you want to end the whole mental cacaphony, but you also know that you're overreacting and being foolish. so you write a poem that is slightly melodramatic but captures the feeling of the helpless moment (which is melodramatic itself) and then go watch superbad and calm down and then go swimming in an ocean and realize it doesn't matter that much, so you're all good, because you're cute, and so is Haiku.
Post a Comment