emphatically pausing
jingoist of the heart
all things red, heavy red
like as if the world was weighed down by blood rushing to its skin
eschewing all things corporeal for a goddamn fantasy
acted out in three parts
get real, get really real
get so real you stop dreaming and start planning your funeral
baby you're a door frame with no walls on either side
what's the point
I loved you until the fortifications broke and the invaders rushed in
I loved you until I heard narration about us in the background every time we were together
your words now are so saddeningly ambiguous
they are destined for the daytime television you love so much
it seems that we
as a people
are fearful of becoming something special
together or apart
I'm aghast at the thought of not being /ABLE/ to let you go
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